Trusting Mirrors

It was as if everything were in slow motion.

Tiny shards of the mirror flew across the room and scattered all over the previously white tiles. Thousands of the slivers cling-clanged in Alice’s ears, making her bloody fists slap against them to block out the startling noises. Red dripped down her hands. It stained the floor and any parts of the mirror that were in the way.

She couldn’t feel the pain. She had become used to pain throughout her stay in this cell. This ugly white cell. It was too pure, too clean, for all of the hideous, nauseating occurrences that happened in this room. Alice was sick of it and was happy that the dark blood blemished its purity.

“Alice.”

It was that voice again. The deep, belly churning, angelic voice. She loved that voice, but she knew it wasn’t real. Angels weren’t real.

“No,” she said aloud. “I’m just going crazy.”

“No, you aren’t. Look up Alice.”

As the door to her cell banged open, shouting came about and hands began to grab at her, but she didn’t care. Through the hole that she had punched in that dreadful mirror, she could see green eyes. Beautiful green eyes. And dirty blonde curls. An angular face.

It was an angel.

It was her angel.