Sharp Little Reminder

I found the mirror in the bottom of my trunk where it lay abandoned and forgotten. I was searching for socks at the time. I picked it up and cradled it in my hands, the dim candlelight of the room being reflected and refracted and reflected again.

I held it closer to my face, drinking in the infinite depths. This close you could still see the hair line cracks where I'd mended it with superglue.

Maybe if I ...

Maybe it'll....

If I just try....

No harm ever came from trying.

I hold the mirror even closer to my face and whisper his name. My breath fogs the glass and I wait for it to clear, still staring intently into my own reflections eyes, counting the seconds.

One.

The mist from my breath clears slightly-

Two.

- a pattern of sorts is emerging -

Three.

- the glass has cleared -

Four.

- and -

Five.

Nothing happens. The eyes I'm looking into are still mine - without the haunted look of his, the hair is dark but nowhere near as elegant, the skin is smooth.

And I hate the sight of myself, staring into the mirror as if my life depends on it.

An amazing rage takes over - consumes me. I've never been this angry in my life. Sudden angry just grips me like a vice and cannot, will not let go. My hands are trembling; I want to throw the mirror against the wall. Harder than I did before. I want it to smash, I want to watch the little pieces that remind me of him - cold, sharp reminders - I want them gone, and I want to be able to live again. I want to be able just to move on, to forget, to never have to think about him again.

I want him to help me.

I'm so angry. So so angry. I'm not just angry, I'm livid, fuming, seething...

The mirror smashes against the wall. Not all the reminders are small and sharp. Some are large and covered in glue. Some are so tiny I don't even notice them against the carpet. Others are hard and sharp and when I walk they dig into my feet and will not go away no matter where I step.

In the corner I see the reminder that I was looking for. It's triangular, almost a perfect reminder. A little shard of smooth glass with impossibly sharp edges. Well, they saw beauty is a double edges sword.

And he was beautiful.

I pick it up, cradle it in my hands. My perfect reminder. It's reflecting my face, hundreds of eyes staring and staring. Every way I move the glass, an eye follows. I let a finger run down the impossibly sharp edge of my little reminder. I let out a hiss as I feel how sharp it is, feel the strange but oh so satisfying feeling of the tiniest, delicate droplet of scarlet red blood run down my finger.

It feels cold.

And then I know something is wrong, because my blood is cold. As cold as the heavy numbness that's been in my chest since he left. Numbness I can't get rid of no matter how hard I try to distract myself.

I clasp my sharp reminder in my hand, tighter than before, willing the thoughts of him and of the Veil to go, to leave me in peace.

It takes me five whole minutes to realise that blood is trickling in a steady stream from my hand. I open I slowly, shakily, and my perfect little reminder has cut gashes in my hand from my tight grasp. I take the reminder out of the injured hand with my right hand.

The cuts have given me an idea. I hold the sharp little reminder in my right hand and poise it over my left wrist. Unnoticed by me I'm panting, my blood is running fast and cold through my veins and my heart rate is raised by anticipation, fear, excitement, anything and everything just rushing round my body faster and faster and faster until I cannot take it any longer and I have to end it all and the only way to end it is to bring my sharp little glass reminder onto my wrist and pull and tear and rip my skin until the cold blood rushes out and the numbness lifts...

I don't make a sound.

My eyes are widening, transfixed by the sight of my cold dark blood rushing over my arms. Relief that I have finally got rid of the cold blood fills me, maybe my blood can be warm after this.

And I feel release. It's the oddest sensation. My eyes close as I feel every piece of pent up anger and frustration, every piece of despair just leak out of me, siphoning away to somewhere I would never have to look at it or feel it or even remember any of it ever again.

Something's happening that's not supposed to. Everything's getting dimmer and there's a faint whine of panic in the very back of my head that is telling me that maybe this was a mistake...

But why would it be a mistake? I wanted this. I did this.

For a reason.

The whines getting louder and louder and the lights are getting dimmer and dimmer and then suddenly the whine stops.

And everything is so quiet.

I can hear nothing but the dripping of a tap and the frantic beating of my heart. I can feel nothing but the seeping blood. I can see nothing but the backs of

my eyelids, dark and heavy.

Something in me changes, moves slightly and my body slackens.

It's over.

I'm free.