Day/Theme: May 19 Who's reflected in the broken glass?
Word Count: 307
Written For: 31_days
I find it hard to believe that the girl with the pallid complexion and the long, dark stringy hair is really me. She looks so lost and alone. She looks like someone who has suffered beyond the point of pain. Nobody should have to endure so much, not in one lifetime. She has many marks on her body in all sorts of places – bruises, cuts, a birthmark at one time or another she had tried to get rid of. She has blood on her clothes, but it is not hers – it belongs to another. Like her, I know what it is like to kill. I know the overwhelming feeling of guilt that descends upon you as you end another’s life. I know the never-ending terror that endures – the fear of being discovered, of being brought to justice. Perhaps, in a way, it would be better for it to be over. Perhaps it would be better for this test to end, no matter how bad and bloody the finale was.
I lift my hand and she does the same, combing those long strands behind one ear. The bird-like mark on her wrist is apparent now. It is the sole thing that condemns her to this life. She doesn’t want to be an assassin. She doesn’t want to kill because she was born into the family of the Phoenix. I don’t want to be an assassin. I don’t want to kill anymore.
I fear what I am becoming. I don’t recognize myself anymore. I don’t trust myself anymore. The mirror sits before me as the day I shattered it. I wonder again if it would be simple enough just to take one of those shards, to rid that monster from this world. I wonder because I don’t know anymore who I’m looking at. Who’s reflected in the broken glass?