Shattered Reflections

Scene 2

Sluggish and heavy, Emma dragged herself into her bathroom, leaving behind a dark shadow, to enter just another one. Leaving the room dark, she took a shower, quickly going through the motions not wanting to touch her exposed body for long. Finished she wrapped herself up in a towel.

Seeing the mirror above her sink, she instinctively looked down, avoiding her reflection. Walking towards it, still looking away.

"Wednesday..."

Opening the cabinet behind the mirror, she took a small blue pill, checked a box, marking off Wednesday as done, and ingested the small blue pill.

Following ritual she closed the mirror cabinet door – big mistake, as she did she was confronted with this image, a man looking her dead in the eyes, as well as a woman looking back. A broken mirror's many reflections each representing a different image, some all too familiar to Emma, ugly, angry and hateful – something she used to be. Newer, less familiar, images that seemed much happier meanwhile also hollow, half complete.

"You're ugly." Slipped from Emma's lips, habitually. Stained with an extreme disgust. Hate oozing in those words.

Shaking her head in dismissal she turned away from the mirror, however the glares of those many reflections left behind her burnt into the back of her head.

You won't escape us...

She began to tear up again, haunted by those things behind her, she didn't want to be, wished to be able to just forget it all. However, the more she tried to forget they simply got louder. Crueller. Painful.

Emma turned around, ready to swing her fists into the mirror that laughed cruelly at her screaming at it "Why can't you just be good enough!" her voice cracking mid sentence, causing her resonance to drop, a feminine scream of agony dropped to a masculine shrill roar of anger.

This sound brought Emma an abrupt stop, leaving her only to look directly at the person in the mirror, staring back at her was nothing but her own reflection, a clean whole reflection of herself. A face marked with a significant lack of softness, a softness of which Emma aspired to, even craving it. Instead a broad face fill the image, an angular jaw, a slight stubble of hair growing in on her face. While the chestnut brown hair covering her face flowing down to her shoulders, gave her a more feminine shape, her face did everything to fight against that.
Noticing the slight growth of hair, this tiny stubble of hair, even though she had only shaved a few days before, no, only yesterday did she shave, her throat felt heavy, her knees buckled weak, dropping her to the floor. Tears running down her face.

"I hate you." She hiccuped out, a low grovel at best.