The following passage is taken from Chapter One of my current work in progress, Somnia.
(Google.images)
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.
God bless,
~Amy Rochelle
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