I guess it's the age-old question. What is it? A lake of fire, maybe an endless soundtrack of your worst nightmares, all your phobias come to life to haunt you till the holy sees fit? Little did everyone know, it was this. A puppet. A mindless puppet to your puppeteer.
My schedule was her schedule. When she was awake, I was attentive, awaiting commands. When she was asleep, I got to stare at a cement wall in the pitch blankness of my cell. Every single memory of what caused this fate played in my mind like a broken record. The choices that I made to get here.
Every morning, and I say morning loosely, I've lost all track of time. Everything I do is poured into her. Around her. I lie on the cold cement floor of my tiny cell. It feels like I'm lying on a bed of dry ice, burning my skin.
Three of these walls, all the same bland color of rusted cement, painted in darkness. Shadows lurking, but I wonder if it's real or just my eyes. Maybe just my paranoia.
Every day, five in the morning, she comes to the fourth wall; it forces something in me to spring up and follow her movements. Every time she's around, every time she's close, I lose control over my whole body. Over everything.
Sometimes I feel as though, I don't follow her movements precisely enough. I just pray to someone that she never does take a second glance; that's when the punishment would set in.
The seven layers would wreck their wrath. A wrath that my brain, my body can't handle. A torture I couldn't endure. I'm just thankful I memorized our routine, my body aches subsiding because of it.
Every morning like clockwork: we brush our teeth, she's very specific about that for some reason, we fix our hair, even though it already falls perfectly how she wants it, even with her just rolling out of bed. Sometimes she takes the extra time to just stare at herself. Stare deeply into the mirror, into what she thinks is her own eyes, trying to grasp reality. I can never tell if she's just curious, conceited, or looking for something specific.
Sometimes I can't help but to think she's staring right at me, right through the illusion. I gulp, swallowing gallons of sand, wondering what she actually sees as I follow her closely, mimicking every minuscule movement. I don't risk even exhaling until she leaves, leaving me alone in my cell block. Leaving me alone for fatigue to latch onto me like a cancer, but insomnia hold open my eyelids.
Every day on repeat for eternity. That's what hell is. I knew her routine by soul now, knowing that she didn't get home until seven and she only comes in the bathroom to use it and wash her hands, which have become simple tasks to mimic.
The task that has been increasingly difficult is the time. Usually, it's been every morning at five, like clockwork. Recently, however, it's been fluctuating and every day is getting harder and harder to be on time. My puppeteer is loosening its strings, almost like I gain control more and more every day. Every day I see her deteriorate more and more like she's falling down a hole, quite like I did at first.
My soul almost yearns for her. I think I've come to care about her. I'm repulsed by the thought of the damned falling for the wings.
Anxiety clung to me like a cancer. The need for sleep held onto me like an infant, the need to console constantly on my mind. My eyes begging me to close, my body pleading to lay down, but the anxiousness coated me like bugs to a carcass. The anxiety forced me to sit in front of the fourth wall, waiting for her. Minute by minute. Second by second ticking slowly. I could hear the ringing of clocks rattling in my skull.
I wanted so badly to lay down, but I couldn't. My joints ached. But I waited. I just waited. I wasn't even staring into the abyss. I just stared at the rusted cement of the floor. Wondering what she saw. Wondering if I would sense her coming.
My thoughts were interrupted by glass shattering screams. My head jerked up to see her standing in front of me, her mouth slightly gaped, staring into the mirror. She moved slowly, slowly getting closer, watching me. Analyzing me.
My breath was held in my chest, terrified of what was to happen now that I had failed. This was my one task. I left a life of torture and trusted with this one task sentenced by the collector of malicious deeds themself. All I thought about was the consequences, horrid consequences; more horrid than my punishment in isolation, more horrid than what I did to get sentenced this punishment.
She screamed again, grabbing something and throwing it at the mirror, shattering it. My cell went completely dark. Darker and colder than usual as I heard her scream get quieter and quieter until silence.
The one thing I hated about this cell was the emotions that were sentenced with it. I've never cared or felt anything since I was a kid, but now I felt fear coursing through my veins like a drug. A heavy one. Numbness, something I knew too well, set in. I couldn't feel anything as I sank down onto the floor. My chest heaved, vomit clawing its way to the back of my throat, but my mouth wouldn't open.
Thoughts ran through my head. Memories of life before crawled their way from the vault. Punishment crawled through my skin like cockroaches locked under my skin. My body started to accept what was coming until a crack of light blinded my eyes. A crack in the mirror, letting the light from the bathroom in through a small gap.
I scrambled over, my joints aching, brain throbbing. Wonder pushed everything aside as I reached my hand up to touch the mirror for the first time ever. My jaw finally opened as my hand pushed through the wall. An exit.
My hands shook slightly as I chipped away a few broken pieces of glass. The shattering sound of glass hitting the cement penetrated my eardrums. The feeling of being alive coursed through my body as my hand reached through. My body turned into a silhouette. I pushed further, carefully crawling through the wall. A smile murdered my lips.
Now, I understand the legends behind mirrors.
Now, I understand the bad luck that haunts you for breaking a mirror.
Finally, I pushed through; a silhouette stuck to the wall.
Now, I know why people are scared of portals.
