The more I squinted, the more my vision blurred.
All I could see was a cloud of mist hovering so lightly, it seemed, yet so impenetrable.
Beyond the haze, I could faintly depict a pair of eyes containing the most pallid shades of blue, their passion and fire; their beauty long diminished. There was something vaguely familiar about this sight, as if I’d traced these eyes a thousand times on a canvas of soft ivory, painting all shades of black as an illusion of life behind them. Yet these were the eyes of a stranger, deflated of all life like air escaping recklessly from a balloon.
Without it, it would cease to exist.
But this sight was no deception of light and shadows. I could feel the cold chill gnawing firstly at my temples, making it’s way across the circumference of my skull as I stared into the depths of these greying eyes with much reluctance though the desire was like a fire within, making it almost impossible to look away. A sudden searing stab at the heart in my chest told me that I understood his pain more than anyone did; does and ever would. But I must continue to tell myself, “these are the eyes of a stranger”. Not only could I feel his pain, I could see it too, like a work of art but far from it. This was a work of torment.
In his iris’ a fierce blue tidal wave of destruction pleasurably lapping up the calm and peaceful amber specks of the shore where I saw myself standing alone. Watching, waiting, wondering.
Would I be saved? Would I be pulled into these murderous waves? Was it too late?
A tendency to reach out to this troubled soul overpowered me like a shock of electricity coursing through my veins but the tendency to run away was just as tempting.
Before I could even think to stop myself, I felt my hands piercing through the warm deceiving condensation and he in return reached for me. My hand was moving faster without my control, closing the distance between us that had once seemed miles long but in reality was only an arms length.
As each second passed by I was getting closer to my destination but then I felt it... The cold reflective glass caressing my calloused fingertips.
The mirror.
A gasp of horror would have escaped my lips if only I could bring myself to breath.
These eyes belonged to me.
I could just tell my mouth was affixed wide open but I didn’t care enough to close it. My instincts were to tear my eyes away from this beast; me; as fast as I could but now my attention was fixed to my hands.
Blood. Red. Crimson.
That’s all I could see smothering me. The water just wouldn’t wash it away. The blood left a tattoo on my hands that would never be removed. There was no antidote, no cure for sins like this.
The cries of anguish were stuck on replay, circling my already broken mind. The cacophony of struggle and pain seemed to echo from the walls, pummeling me just at the sound. It left me winded, struggling for breath. Now I was a victim of myself.
I was hanging by a noose I’d tied myself.
