Author: the ticking clock PM
I can't face the girl in the looking glass...Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Angst/Hurt/Comfort - Words: 440 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 2 - Published: 04-19-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3014865
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Her eyes stare at me.
Bright, dark, defiant-they look at me with almost an accusing air, as if I did something to make her angry, as if she wants to lash out, cross the distance between us and scream her emotions where I can hear them.
They are strangely sharp, these eyes. As if they can pierce through my clothes, my skin, my bones, and stab me right in my soul, as if I can hide nothing.
Her face-strong boned, pale, and set-has a cold, almost detached expression. Her lips are pressed together, but not in a firm and angry way. They are locked together as if they want to move, as if she wants words to come out, as if she cannot bear to hold them in, but she has to.
The words. Her whole face screams words. Words that she wants to say, but never will. Words that can articulate her emotions, words that can make people understand. Words that will release her thoughts into the world.
Her lips tremble, but the words will never pass them. Instead, they spill out in her eyes, flashing and fading inside her iris.
Why won't they understand? the words burn in her gaze, and the film of tears that is beginning to cloud her eyes does nothing to obscure the fiery meaning behind the words I see there. All you need to do is speak with them. All you need to do is make them see what you mean, and you can do that. You know you can.
Then her lips move. But I'm afraid, she whispers.
Her eyes pierce through the words her lips spoke. They are a dark and luminous pit of anger and grief and sadness. They no longer speak words, but emotions. And it burns me.
I close my eyes to block out the image, but the words still echo inside my head as if they are burned into my consciousness, as if they will never leave. I allow my eyes to open slowly, bracing myself for the pain I will see when my eyelids are fully pulled back, when I see her again. I reach out my hand as if to ward off a blow, and my fingers brush something cold, something hard. Glass.
Spinning around, I run. Because I can't look again. I can't face her. She is everything I want to say, everything I whisper in the darkest corner of my mind, and I can't bear to see that now.
I can't face the girl in the looking glass.
I can't face my Reflection.