Looking at the mirror, it had gotten clean enough that she could see the nicks and cracks permeating the surface. But, it was coarse and shone much more like copper than like silver or a brilliant metal and she struggled to see through it. She reached towards her lap and gently picked the scraps of cloth off her lap as she lifted it to the surface. Her clothes, torn in places where she had gotten the rags to clean with, hung limply off her body as she rubbed in circles, endlessly, repetitively. The people around her would not help her see herself, so she took the job in a futile attempt to become a person with a face.
Her room, locked away from the inside so she would stay until her task was done, was kept in the corner of the house. The mirror, worn and dark, somehow managed to still reflect the light, and she would continue to scrub it until the electricity faded into nothingness and the room became dark. She would retire to her bed and stare between the ceiling and the mirror. Her mind told her, be afraid, of what lurks in the dark, because you cannot see it. The mirror reflected the dark, showed nothing, and so she strove to clean it, purge it, and see what lurked in her life.
The next morning, vaguely, absently, she pictured herself, looking up at the dusty Polaroid taped to the mirror. A toothy grin, the only thing not burned, or damaged by water, was all that showed. She smiled, for what could have been the thousandth time, to no one, as the mirror did nothing back/
If this was loneliness, well, she had no idea. Life, existence, all of it- she had never known another, and if she ever had, well, her memories had faded with the mirror and she tried to look back to a day before her monotone essence consisted of cleaning and scrubbing smaller and smaller circles every day, and continued to find nothing.
A dot appeared on her forehead. Small, and warm, she felt the flush of life swell through her. If she squinted, she saw in the mirror, and a shred of silver pierced through to the day and she sat in amazement and watched it. Fascinated, she bent close, and saw skin, fabric, freckles and hairs and life and continued to do nothing but watch in amazement as pinpricks of her snaked through.
The next day, she resumed her cleaning, and continued to scrub. Slowly, over months that mixed together into nothingness, she continued to wipe the mirror. The photo, still dusty and torn, fell, one day, off the mirror and under the desk it sat on, empty, and alone. She did not notice. She noticed nothing nowadays, unless it was another slice into the mirror.
It was streaky, but when she stood at the foot of her bed, a feeble imitation shone through and it was powerful, and it was living, and it was a person thought never to exist who had suddenly come through.
That night though, she laid in bed and watched in horror as monsters appeared and shone through the moon and the silver harshness of her mirror. It was grotesque and disgusted her and she became fear and lived through it as she clutched her rags of clothes and waited for them to leave. The mirror got dusty again, as she would sit in the chair and watch it for days. Then, one day, she feared it would never be clean again, and so she sought to once again expose herself.
It happened so quickly she was amazed that it even existed. Silver and shining, it flew in front of her as bright and clean as she never thought existed. Life had existed and she watched herself in wonder and amazement. Then, a figure behind her appeared and she gasped, turning to find that no one was there. When she turned back in to the mirror, it stood there again, dark and imposing. No one had told her that revealing the mirror would reveal everything that preyed on her.
Again, the monsters came at night and they stood like her, in front of the mirror with leering grins and prying fingers as they touched it reverently. Whispers traveled across the room, hissing like snakes and they lived in darkness and preyed on her without even knowing she was there. But, they saw her in the mirror and knew she existed. So they came for her, the next night.
She watched herself get dragged away, she saw the panic in her eyes, saw the fear dripping out of her and she grabbed for the leg of the table that the mirror rested on, searching for a way to stay and grabbed the photo that had fallen underneath, so dirty and dusty that the person, that the smile ceased to exist, and simply stood in darkness. She had finally exposed herself, only to lose herself.
She awoke the next morning on the hard pavement of the street, and looked up to see the sun shine brightly on her. She grimaced, revealing her teeth, and, like a mirror, the sun reflected off it in brilliant, exposing, rays.
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