Glass

The glass glitters under the sun, pretty, fragile, oh so delicate. She looks at her reflection, presented clearly to her even amidst the sparkles of fragmented sun rays. She looks. She looks. She looks. The image, it's pretty, it's bright, it's young and happy. It's beautiful, really.

It's not her.

She touches the smooth oval piece, light contact with her index finger. She jerks back. It's not cold but it's not hot either. It's warm. A nice, comforting sort of warmth...like snuggling up under blankets when the night is chilly...like a hug when your heart feels cold...

It creeps her out.

She stares at it again and the girl on the other side looks back at her with a sincere smile. She moves from left to right, right to left, back and front, jerky quick movements meant to test this weird object. The image moves along with her but her actions are smooth, graceful and you can tell she it is having fun. The picture's grinning, laughing...Happy.

She wants to be that girl.

She stretches her fingers out towards the image again, making swirling patterns on the smooth surface but making sure her long nails don't leave a scratch. She wants to be that girl. She wants it so much.

But it's a hopeless dream.

The girl's trapped, trapped within that other world, the world so far away from her reach. She can see her, she can see her smiling, she can see her whole...but she can't pull her back. That young, happy, little girl...Innocent, grinning, full of life....She's not gone. No. But she's never going to return either. The glass isn't a cage - oh how she wished the child was trapped within such a fragile thing - the glass is just to remind her of what had been and how all that had been lost. It was to remind her, it was to hurt her, it was to make her long for the impossible just to realise that it was never going to happen, that it was just that, absolutely impossible.

She lifts the mirror off the grass.

And as much as it looked so close...her bony fingers stroke the silvery glass once again....she'll never reach it. Because the girl's trapped and even if she tries, they'll grab her and wrench her back. Jagged cuts on her forehead and purple bruises splattered over her thin legs...They'll pull her back. She knows that. She knows she'll never reach it.

Crack.


Blood stains don't matter when your shirt's already crimson and when your heart had long been punctured, blood trickling out like a stream in hell. She looks at her hands and wipes the liquid off by rubbing her palms against her tattered jeans. The glass is in pieces and she bends forward, looking for her reflection. It's a distorted image, broken and messed up, spots of blood decorating the edges.

Now that, that's her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Writing prompts for above given by AJ, Cheeze, Pigeon & Storm. Much thanks :D (Innocence, reflection, disintegrated and mirror)