Cracks in the Mirror

This, Again?

I wake up in a blank world. Everything around me is white. Slowly, my vision clears up and I can see a cupboard to my left.

White.

A table to my right.

White.

I'm sitting on a bed.

White.

I'm wearing a thin robe.

W h i t e.

Oh God, where am I?

And then I remember that I have seen all of this before today.

This, again?

Why does everything have to be white in hospitals?

==*==

Bloody hell. This is my second visit to the hospital this fortnight. My neighbours, if I had any, would think that I'm a self-harming maniac. Thank God that these neighbours are hypothetical.

Right now, a hospital would be the worst place to put me, because I can not afford to be alone with my thoughts if I don't want to panic.

But I can not stop myself.

I can't not think about that mirror.

Why did it choose me? Surely, these accidents and the cracks can't be a coincidence. Is it hurting me because I bought it, or would it have found me eventually?

The question is confusing.

The solution, however, is simple.

Get rid of the mirror.

==*==

As soon as I reach home after being discharged from the hospital, I rush towards my room.

Let's get this over with.

I pause as my fingers hover over the handle of my door.

This is the moment of truth.

If there is another crack on the mirror, something is wrong with it and it is definitely going to get discarded.

If there isn't another crack, then I imagined it all up and something is wrong with me.

The door creaks as I push it open.

How clichéd.

I walk towards the mirror, dreading what I think I'm going to see.

I was right. There is another crack cutting through the mirror's surface.

Wasting no time on second thoughts, I pull up the mirror off its hook. I handle it carefully as I walk down the stairs, taking great care not to crack it further.

Who knows would happen if it cracked again?

I am almost at the front door when Connor sees me. He doesn't say anything, but slightly tilts his head, as if he is wondering what antic I'm up to now. I put my finger on my lips, silently signaling him not to tell mom and dad about this and he nods.

He understands.

I plod silently out of the house. I know where I am headed. I saw an old overgrown park, weeds and all, while coming back from the hospital. I think I remember mom telling me that nobody visits that garden anymore. It is abandoned.

Perfect.

After about ten minutes of walking and lugging the freakishly heavy mirror behind me, I reach the garden. I am looking for the darkest part of the park when I spot a shady corner which looks especially musty. I carefully place the mirror there, covering it up with branches and leaves. I stand back to observe my handiwork.

The mirror is pretty well-hidden; you would only spot it if you were looking for it specifically.

I hurry back to my house, hoping that my over-protective parents haven't noticed my absence.

They mean well, but it's really irritating sometimes.

Like the time when I asked them if I could go to the beach with my friends and they actually slipped a G.P.S tracker into my picnic hamper.

They would probably freak out if they found out that I left the house without asking them first.

Luckily, nobody notices me as I enter through the front door.

Since my parents are not at the front door angrily waiting for me, I assume that they didn't notice my absence.

Relieved, I climb the stairs to my room. I flop onto the bed, exhausted from the day I have had, and fall asleep almost immediately.

==*==

I'm sitting on the couch in the living room next to Connor when the bell rings. We both groan.

"Your turn," he says, eyes still fixed on the telly.

I sigh and get up to open the door. The floorboards creak with my weight as I plod across it.

I reach for the doorknob as a feeling of dread already spreads through my chest. The door creaks open (everything creaks in this house) and I freeze.

The mirror is back.

And this time it has . . . eyes?