The Mirror

I didn’t remember when I started to have this feeling. Every time I look into the mirror, I felt my reflection was so horrible and awful. Sometimes I screamed hysterically and closed my eyes tight, I was scared to see my own appearance. Sometimes I could spend hours in front of the mirror to fix my face or my hair, but it didn’t make me feel any better. My family said that there was nothing wrong with my face, but I knew they lied. They said that because they love me and didn’t want to see me sad. They comforted me by saying that I was beautiful, although I was so formlessly ugly.

One day I had enough. I beat my face over and over again until my hands hurt and my head ached like it was going to explode. Bruises on my forehead and drained blood from my nose, made all seemed to be worse. I hate it more than ever.

My mom cried to see all those black-and-blue in my face. She thought I was beaten by scums. When I told her that I did it myself, she cried more. “There was nothing wrong with your face!” My dad yelled at me and forced me to face the mirror. I shut my eyes, couldn’t see the real nightmare in front of me. That day, my parents destroyed all the mirrors in the house and took me to the psychiatrist.

What the psychiatrist said was the same; there was nothing wrong with my face, that I was perfectly normal. They told me that the ugly face was only in my mind. They said they will cure me. They thought it was a disorder. No, they didn’t understand what happened to me. They didn’t know that the face on my head was not my face!

Tonight, my parents went out for dinner with their friends. I have to take the chance right now before they’re back home. I’ve prepared a cleaver and a little mirror the only one left in the house. Tonight, I have to get rid of this monstrous creature in my face, out of my head.

“Begone, you beast…” I whispered to the mirror and quickly drew the cleaver right to my neck. That demonic face in the mirror grinned.

***

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