Kovich

A man, of a light complexion but smoky locks, stood deeming before a mirror in a rusty bathroom, which was illuminated by a dim, tawny yellow light bulb, covered in dormant moths and flies. He blinked at his reflection occasionally and drew back the hair that continuously fell past his eyes and onto his cheeks, tickling the pale apples with their uneven ends. He practiced breathing and sighing loudly as he gazed into the mirror, covered in smudges of fingerprints and splatters of dried white substance, watching his bare chest rise and fall with each exhale. He placed his hands on a rusty sink and leaned forward, studying his own dark eyes. In that mirror he searched for something within himself, even squinting slightly to locate it.

            He sighed again and leaned back, brushing the rust off of his hands onto his trousers. He gave one last longing stare before he closed his eyes. His mouth began to twitch at the ends as he took another intake of breath, his bottom lip beginning to quiver. He bit his lit, rather harshly, before a cowardly voice croaked from between his lips.

            “One day, you will die.”

            He then clutched his head, balling two fistfuls of hair into his grip, as he fell to his knees on a tile floor covered in muddy shoe prints. He squeezed his eyes shut and bent forward until his forehead met the ground and felt, with all his might, a warm, salty tear trickle down his forehead and onto the grout.

            His exposed back shook with grief as silent whimpers filled the lonesome bathroom.