The Shell of What I was

Charlie's Angel

Claire Montgomery was never one to believe in a life after death. She was never one to believe in the possibility of one's soul continuing their journey past their time on Earth. Death always seemed like a sentence, ended by a simple full stop. But it seemed that after the arrival of her son Jack and a particular event, life couldn't be like a simple full stop, but rather as a semicolon. Along with her son's birth, came the rebirth of her understanding of what life was.

It was a cool autumnal day in South London. The bright sun and clear blue sky light up the master bedroom of a 120-meter square apartment where a woman in her mid-thirties was stood up facing a large, floor-length mirror. She stared at her reflection as she applied light brushes of mascara against her eyelashes. The room in which the woman stood in was covered in a dark wood floor and filled with a mix of dark brown and black wooden furniture. She hummed along to the enchanting chirping of birds sat outside her window on a tree branch covered in leaves tainted in warm colours. The woman sat her mascara down and switched it with her eyeliner. She slowly brought the liquid eyeliner closer and closer to her eyelid, her hands shaking as she tried to perfect her cat wing. Just when the tip of the makeup product was inches away from her skin, a force hit her left leg causing her hand to abruptly move resulting in a large black line painted across her cheek.

"Jack!" she breathed out, disbelief scattered across her eyes.

            Jack, her son of four years was stood at her feet giggling and babbling to his reflection standing across from him. His dirty blond hair was styled in a bowl cut covering the entirety of his forehead. He was dressed in a jean overall layered on top of a graphic tee on which purple and green drawings of space were drawn. His eyes sparkled and smile was drawn from ear to ear as he talked to his reflection, laughing at its every move.

"No it's your fault!" he giggled as he pointed at the boy staring right back at him, not acknowledging his mother's comment or the fact that he had slightly shoved her by surprise.

            Claire didn't say a thing or react to her son talking to his reflection as if it were a completely different person. Jack had been doing this since he could walk. At first, it was just simple waves along with giggles, but as he learned how to talk the conversations continued to extend more and more. At first, Claire had thought it was normal, just her son getting intrigued by a little boy looking and mimicking exactly what he was doing. But as he began to talk to the reflection as if it were another, she started to worry about her son and his difficulty to distinguish between reality and his imagination.

"It's your turn!" he exclaimed at his reflection, "I've already been tag three times" he spoke counting on his tiny hands, before looking up at his mother to make sure he had said the right number.

            Claire smiled at the little boy at her feet as he showed his fingers up at her. She nodded, indicating that he had indeed counted the right number before bringing her attention back to her makeup. She quickly finished before her husband called her from the kitchen.

"Coming!" Claire spoke loud enough for her husband, Gilbert to hear.

            She placed her products back in her makeup case before heading out of her bedroom. Jack stayed in the bedroom continuing to play along with his reflection. As soon as she walked out, the little boy ran towards the perfectly made bed and hid under the covers.

"He won't find me here," he thought to himself as he tried his best not make a single movement.

            He lied down in the bed in a curled ball, petrified too afraid that if his toe moved, he would be found. Jack waited for what felt like hours underneath the covers for his friend to come and find him and for them to start a new game. Despite the length of time, he was underneath the covers, he managed to stay as still as possible.