I never sleep. Even when they cover me with drapes, I stay alert, watching, absorbing, memorizing, the past reflections swarming restlessly below my silvery surface.
I never forget. Once in, never out. Their images stay with me long after their owners are gone. Their smiles and tears, their beauty and ugliness, their vanity and modesty – all blended into what one might call my soul.
I only dream of one thing: to be able to see the reflection of myself. Not the outward appearance, the frame and glass, though, but my true inner self. Other mirrors cannot do the job – we just reflect one another's hollowness, multiplying it infinitely. What I desperately need is an insight, a revelation, a catharsis — the ultimate experience of Recognition... and Acceptance.
And least of all I've expected to get it from a human being.
YOU ARE READING
Faces in the street
Short StoryArthur's occupation was stealing faces. Thankfully, those were in generous supply, streets being crowded as they were. He couldn't have said when this had started, but he knew for a fact he couldn't live without it. The very experience of putting on...
