𝒮𝒽𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑀𝒾𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓇𝓈// 𝕄𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕠.𝕋

四(𝕀𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕫𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦'𝕣𝕖 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕚𝕖. ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕟'𝕥 𝕓𝕖 𝕞𝕖🙄)

Fuck my life, Fuck my life, Fuck my life! I glared at my reflection in the mirror with a look of intense hatred and self-loathing. Hot tears were running down my face and dripping onto the floor leaving little damp marks on the tatami lining. My fists were tightly clenched and trembling, nails digging into my palm. My cheek had turned red where the skin had broken and was bleeding slightly. The image in the mirror of me being a disheveled mess made me realize something. I was living a lie. It was like something had snapped within me. With a crazed look in my eyes, I raised a fist and punched my mirror creating cracks and distorted reflections on myself. I punched the mirror again and again, shattering it into hundreds of shards on the floor.

I had been pressured and forced into perfection for the majority of my short life only to be looked down on in disdain and told I was not good enough, or that it would have been better that I was born male. Of course, being a child, I was naive and hopeful. I had thought that I just wasn't trying hard enough and if I put in more effort they'd finally show some sort of affection and care. Every time they pushed me away I had thought it was just tough love to help me become independent. Oh how wrong I was. I had once overheard them saying my existence was a bad omen and a tainted stain on their family history.

At first, I was baffled that they'd say something so harsh just because I was female but I quickly learned that my family revolves around our traditions. For centuries the firstborn has always been male. My birth caused an uproar since they thought it was a sign of impurity. This was why my family was so focused on having me married off so I could bear a son to become the new head of our family once my father died. Such a sad reason to be alive, am I right? My sole purpose in their eyes was just to continue their traditions.

My anger started to fade away and was replaced with anguish and hopelessness. The light in my eyes dulled a bit as I had the tempting urge to close my eyes and never wake up. I'm tired. So tired. Just let me go to sleep. I want to die... I fell to my knees feeling sapped of my energy. I blankly looked at my hand. It was now cut and bloody from punching the mirror. I didn't feel any pain despite all the broken shards embedded in my knuckles and fingers. Every jagged piece that pierced my skin was a reminder of all the mental and emotional pain I was put through from being forced to grow up too quickly. I'm crazy, aren't I? If only I was stronger. I'm too pathetic to even have one thing taken off me... Maybe I would be better off dead... Life is interesting, isn't it? How quickly one could fall into disrepair... I guess some of us are more fragile than others, like glass or a mirror.

I weakly reached for my drawers and opened the bottom one. Sifting through the clothes that were neatly folded, I felt cold metal beneath my fingertips. There it is... wrapping my fingers around the object I pulled it out. I now had a fully loaded Webley revolver in my hands, the shiny metal and wood finish gleamed enticingly in the light. With shaky hands I pressed the revolver's muzzle at my temple, my breathing shallow and labored as I trembled. Feeling the cold metal against my skin, I closed my eyes and pulled back the hammer, hearing the click. A sense of calm washed over me, it was strange. Like a sort of relief to finally be able to rest after a long day. I wrapped my finger around the trigger, about to pull it before I noticed something was off. It was too quiet like a deafening silence. The crickets seemed to have halted their nightly symphony. Only my heartbeat and breath were audible to me.