Mirrors

Reflection

Chapter Three:

Reflection

My name is Irene . . . Irene Valerie Serenity. I should have told you earlier, but I was too caught up in the moment. I was too shocked to gather all of my thoughts. Whoever you are, I know you're one of the voices in my head. So whatever you do, just listen to me for just this once. I need someone to tell me that I'm all right. I need someone to tell me that everything is going to be OK. Can you do that for me?

My name is Irene. My name is Irene. Irene is my name. I have to keep repeating this to myself because I knew that someday I'd forget who I was. Can you help me? Is there a way out of here? No, no. Don't scream at me. No! Please don't be mad! I just needed some help!

If I couldn't swim upwards, I could swim forwards. My arms and legs disturbed the calm ocean, displacing every water molecule that came my way. I turned my head from side-to-side, looking for some form of life. There has to be someone or something out there that could keep me from being lonely.  

After minutes of searching, I couldn't find anything. I managed to 'sit' cross legged. I was caught in the middle of everything I feared: the vast darkness of the open sea and loneliness.

Something below me shone, catching my attention. I didn't stop to think; I swam to its side. When I reached it, I was baffled at the sight. The dazzling object was nothing but a full-sized mirror. It stood without support. It was framed with an ebony black wooden frame, with hand—made paintings of roses and vines. It was carved into a what looked like vines twisted together. Its design stretched throughout the wood, giving it a nostalgic kind of feeling.

The reflection stared at me, but it wasn't what I expected. It showed me—about three years younger: thirteen years old. I gawked at her, moving my arms and legs as she copied me. She had a melancholic expression. I in the other hand was horrified.

What happened to her? Do I dare recall? I saw the small dark marks on one side of her arm, noticing its different color from the rest. They were cutting marks. I pulled my head away, closing my eyes to ward off the suppressed memory. It was only three years ago, but it felt as if that life never belonged to me.

I cried, curling myself into a ball. My body bobbed; the equilibrium of my weight shifted out of balance, making my body bend forward. My eyes faced the darkness of the bottomless pit. I knew I cried, though the mix of tears and the ocean made it seem as if I hadn't cried at all.  

I thought I had forgotten that part of me. Why did it still move me to tears?

I turned around, observing the younger version of me. She had more weight pounded upon her than I currently had. Her short hair was cut so short. The sluggish appearance made me cringe; three years ago, I had no sense of fashion. I wore a green sweater, unflattering and hideous. It hid the curves that I had acquired when I turned eleven years old. Her dark, sad eyes stared back at me. She was worthless. She was pathetic. All she asked for was to die, and to die was what she got.

I tried recalling the last time I'd been in the real world. My head started hurting as I remembered a crash. I reached a hand to where it ached, and felt warm liquid on my hair. I pulled my hand and saw the blood, diluted by water. I remembered the screams of frantic strangers calling for help. The ambulance siren rang out; it was the last thing that I had heard. The spring air made my body colder. The pavement froze me to the bone. My breath formed into a small fog. At that point, all I wanted to do was sleep.  

Something wrong must have happened afterwards. It was why I found myself here in this watery, quiet world.

I closed my eyes after realizing my fate: I was completely erased from the world. I would never feel the warmth of the sun, never eat sweet things, never sing, never reach my dreams, and never expect the unexpected. I am closed off to the life that could have been better.  

In this world of empty sorrow, it's not the heaven we usually hear from. This is neither heaven nor hell. This is a mockery of all the problems that you had faced, creeping into your banished soul. As a sixteen-year-old, there were so many things left to do. Here, you neither did anything wrong nor did anything right. It was a purgatory.