Vitreous Viciousness

Mary Bowling, First Year, English Major, Bristol, TN

 

I bought a mirror from

 

an antique shop. It was

 

beautiful, sparkling and

 

silver — my second

 

favorite winning piece,

 

the rewards of my good

 

efforts, my saving. I

 

cherished this mirror

 

for many days. She

 

showed me handsome

 

women, golden with

 

youth, innocent eyes

 

matching innocent hands.

 

In exchange for friendly

 

displays, I was her

 

devoted maid. She

 

remained clean as a

 

whistle; squeaky. And

 

yet, the

 

bewitched

 

glass began

 

to shift

 

such as day

 

shifts to

 

night. My

 

prized antique,

 

now dark with

 

wickedness.

 

The beauty

 

ripples away

 

as if I threw

 

a silver stone

 

in the pond.

 

She shows me

 

my nemesis in

 

a cruel joke,

 

and I am

 

trapped

 

underneath

 

the harsh

 

canary light

 

in my

 

bathroom.

 

Like sworn

 

enemies, we

 

leer defiantly

 

at one another,

 

animosity

 

swirling in

 

the air above.

 

Violent stares

 

within the

 

reflective

 

squares,

 

sharp snarls

 

accompanied

 

by the burning

 

ocean that

 

made a

 

permanent

 

home in her

 

eyes. Why

 

must she

 

advocate

 

against me

 

now? I am

 

returning my

 

black mirror

 

today, for she

 

has burdened

 

me with evil

 

mind games

 

and trickery.