I sit in a dark room staring at a mirror shattered across the floor. It was fine moments ago. I tried to piece together the mirror with the measly shards, but to no avail, the shards turned to sand. My eyes pouring blood, as the mirror was not the only thing shattered, I returned to my cloak of darkness.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection Of Short Stories By Maurice
Short StoryI like metaphors because then people have to figure it out, and then it's work, so people hate it and I hate people. So this is a metaphor. but I won't tell you what, comment if you think you do.
