Beyond The Screen

Mirrors

*Warning this is venty! Feel free to skip.*

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Flare liked mirrors, or maybe she hated them. She honestly couldn't tell anymore. It was a standard routine- get up out of bed then stare into the mirror.

A mirror showed who you were, well at least on the surface. They didn't show what she looked like inside, that's what Flare liked about them.

She could focus on her gray eyes, or her blonde hair. Physical traits she could see. She could practice her smile, her laugh, her talk, nobody could see the imperfections that attempted to leak through at any given moment.

And once she finished staring at herself, the mask would be slipped on. The mask that hit the inner turmoil that lay beneath. And even the mirror didn't notice anything wrong with the mask. It looked just like her, blended in with everything she knew.

Flare would throw on the cheerful facade, laughs occurring every once in a while. The fake confidence that she'd throw out, the compliments she'd give to herself.

Everything was an act. A beautiful, deadly, act. Flare took acting classes when she was younger, she never realized how handy they'd come in. It was so much easier for people to see what they wanted to see.

Just like a toy, nobody wanted a broken one. The broken ones were thrown away and discarded, never to see the light of day again. So her mask stayed up, she tried to let herself not break.

Yet the mirror didn't show what poisoned the girl. Made her hate herself underneath the surface. Her insecurities and anxiety clawed at her, eating away at her.

When everyone around her knows what they are doing, and she doesn't she feels like she is lacking and dumb for not knowing what to do.

When she can't do something she feels worthless not being able to reach expectations. Failure is always the worst option, when other people's opinions of you drop.

When her disability slaps her in the face and she has to attempt to recall what was said. Asking even four times for the same stupid sentence to be repeated. When words don't make sense in her mind, she hates it- she isn't even in the conversation anymore. She's trying to figure out where everything went off the rails.

When everyone are her needed help she lent a shoulder, listened, and helped. Yet she always felt burdened whenever she has to turn to someone.

Everything piled up onto her, she felt like she was alone. And that terrified her- she couldn't see anyone in sight. Only the demons in her mind floated around. They whispered to her, egging the facade she kept up to crumble and break.

The mask occasionally did break. The self-loathing breaking through like a leaking dam. She would spew hateful words to herself

When people ask what's wrong, she just lies and says nothing. She says she's fine and looks in the mirror. The mirror doesn't see it.

So she's just waiting.

Waiting for the day the mask cracks.

Waiting for the day she cracks.

Waiting for the day the mirror.

C R A C K S