I am Ashley’s reflection.
Every morning, she rises from sleep and walks into the bathroom.
…and she makes faces.
I am so tired of the faces. She makes them for at least half an hour. Mocking, ridiculous faces. I have no choice but to mimic her every action, although inside I am seething with anger.
She does this every day… well, USED to.
One morning she awoke as usual, and entered the bathroom.
On this particular morning, against her will, she picked up a pair of scissors.
On this particular morning, against HER will, SHE gripped those scissors tightly in her fist.
…on this particular morning, entirely against her will, she plunged those scissors directly into her right eye.
Ashley screamed, and screamed. I screamed and screamed too - with one difference.
I can’t mimic her pain.
Just
her
face.

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