The following passage is taken from Chapter One of my current work in progress, Somnia.
Something shiny on a wall caught my eye. Dust covered the object hanging on the faded, flowery wallpaper. The wallpaper itself had started peeling, as if the flowers in the pattern were dropping their petals. I pulled my sleeve over my hand and rubbed the smooth surface down. It was a mirror. I had never found one fully intact before. There was a small chip at the corner, but it didn’t take away from its purpose. I stared at the face looking back at me—my face. I didn’t know anyone could look as empty as they felt. I made a few movements, testing the ability of the mirror’s reflectiveness. Then I spoke, and the realization of my solitude hit me. My reflection moved faithfully with me, but the voice coming from the boy in the mirror was still my own. I touched the mirror, my reflection doing the same. The surface was hard and cold, much like the look in my dark eyes. I didn’t always look that way. Gruff and tired. I suppose the years of being trapped here in this lifeless town has stolen something from me.
I know that I’m completely alone in the town; it doesn’t take a brilliant mind to understand that from the abandoned homes and the utter silence in the streets. But on that day when I had spoken to my reflection in the mirror, it was the first time I had felt it. I wasn’t just alone anymore. I was lonely.