Love's Mirror

        My arrival was meant to be a surprise. I had wanted to see her one more time before I left on a journey that might have kept me far for some time. The departure weighed my arms down as I stood at the door.

        The door was constructed to keep unwelcomed guests out. As far as I could tell, it consisted of solid unpainted steel. The dragon scale of a door had never opened for me before. Its unmarked neutral body did little less than intimidate potential visitors. I was brought to tears by the dilemma created by the mighty threshold. With a dreadful vigour I wished to leave it there forever. But to abandon her now was to leave her forever.

        A shaking overtook my body as I struggled to raise a fist. The first knock was poorly supported. The sound died before even I could hear it. My fist clenched as the shaking intensified. The dragon scale was death against my knuckles. It did not give anything away. Rather, it took all it could. A chill gripped my body, seizing it suddenly and violently. All of my dwindled strength and energy was placed into one final knock. It regret that action.

The second struck my ear drums with a passionate indifference. The echoing emptiness was a wandering spirit, appearing when least wanted. It was a sentence penned in my notebook by an unknown author. But, as horrible as the hollow sound was, the following silence gave me the wish to knock again. The obvious lack of any response was a knife to the throat. There was no treatment. The end was near. But I did not leave.

        The handle was slender, as if it was to break after a single use. My thumb carefully pushed the doomsday button, and with a great heave, the door creaked open.

        The doorway seemed ordinary, but shoes of all types covered the floor. I stepped in with little thought as to what I might find. The small entry room was no bigger than six feet wide and four feet long. A small brown doormat was under my feet, and was placed as if to mark where the door would open. I found no place to step, except for on the army of footwear that filled the room. They were of every type, make, and color. Strange foreign shoes were among them, alongside winter and summer gear. I found an island among the unfamiliar sea of shoes. My own sneakers stepped onto a pair of steel-toed workboots. I had stretched across the sea so that I could shut the door. The crashing sound bounded about the tiny room, striking me as it passed by. It was then that I became aware of the parallel closets. They appeared to be no less than moving mirrors. I saw myself in them, and I peered into infinity. The mirrors were being pushed aside by their overwhelming contents. Jackets and coats reached for freedom from the crammed prison. I did not dare free them.

        I stepped through the arched doorway and entered what might have been a living room. It was large in size and connected all of the other rooms of the house. As central as it was, it felt out of place due to its decor. The floor was visible in parts. It was a simplistic hardwood flooring, but it was dirt being concealed by a lawn made up of discarded articles of clothing. They were no different than the shoes in their variety, but there was stranger in the room. It was lined with identical cabinets of a very low quality. They were essentially moveable closets, as they only had one compartment. They had no design that could be identified as craftsmanship. I showed no care for the littered clothes as I made my way to the closest cabinet. My eyes noticed that each cabinet had a sheet of paper on it. They appeared to be different in their messages. The assumption was that this was how she found things.

        But what was written on the first cabinet was not a color, or anything of the sort. The word was “Beauty”, an ideal I had strove to find embodied in people. In fact, I thought that I had found it, but the label made me question my achievement. I moved on, afraid as to what I might have found within. “Truth” was the next ideal to be listed. I continued, watching as I passed by “Justice” and then “Courage”. Every label was an ideal, whether pursued by me or not. But I could go no further when I read what I knew her as, “Love”.

        There was a deep yearning to open the cabinet and find nothing but books on the subject. I wanted to see row after row of romance novels, as well as some more scientific works as to the mysteries of love. I hoped most pathetically that all would go as I pleased. No facade lasts forever, however. When my foolish mind decided to explore the unknown, it found the answers it dreaded to see. The answers spawned more questions, along with an overbearing sense of idiocy.

        Everything had been a simple masquerade, a game I unknowingly played. My fingers felt the fake skin of Love's supposed face. My nerves could not distinguish it from human skin, as always, but there was no denying that it was a mask. I could find no way to doubt what I had found, except perhaps for the presence of a psychopath who skinned his or her victims. I was petrified and outraged. The frustration was an unexpected burden on a fool's shoulders. All that I thought I had achieved was nothing but a facade.

        The steel door creaked open. It had a purpose. People had to be kept away, or else all would be revealed. I awaited discovery, as I knew she would notice me immediately. The door crashed shut, but the sound was insignificant. I took the mask with no hesitation. My movements were quick and strong. I waited for her to find me standing out in the open. Her footsteps were invisible to the ear's abilities, but her voice was not.

        “So now you know.” The words were ice and the chemical composition possessed not a trace of worry. I had drank the draught of rage. It intoxicated me as I pivoted to face her. But it all faded away as I gazed upon her unfamiliar face. It was indifferent to me in entirety. It felt like I was facing a complete stranger.

        “So what, or who, are you? Do you just lend yourself to those who want you to play a part?” I questioned with a tone full of sound and fury. I wanted to hurt her for all that she had done to me. She let a smirk slip to remind me of her indifference.

        “I am whatever you want me to be. After all, the time we've known each other has been spent pretending you've achieved something worthwhile.” Her mockery of me did not help my mental state. All it did was grind salt into my wound. I was the worst kind of failure, one ignorant of the truth.

        “You're a prostitute, then.” I attacked. She laughed.

        “You sold yourself to me, as the rest do. I put on my illusion, and you chased it willingly. You gave me everything I wanted in order for me to allow you to feel achievement. You see now? You are nothing but a whore who is paid in false ideas.” Her words snickered at me at every chance. It was amusing to her because it was true. I bit my fist in frustration. The pain was relaxing, and the taste of blood did not stop me. I continued, not knowing how to react to my situation.

        Sorrow waited its turn to possess me, but it got its chance when I finally stopped biting myself. My mouth was full of my own crimson liquid, and my fist had become engulfed in the constant stream of blood. Drop after drop fell onto the clothes below. She showed no care, and neither did I. The taste in my mouth might have been nice, but it was warm and horribly bitter. The corruption of my soul seemed to rest in it, and I was experiencing it for the first time. It had been flowing through my body for so long, and yet, I had no idea what was truly there. As the sorrow took over, the blame went from her to me. It was an unavoidable change of mind. I had chosen to degrade and deceive myself. She was simply a meant to the idiotic end.

        “Would you like to see it?” Like the victor that she was, she wanted to flaunt all that she had achieved. This much was apparent in her voice. Mine had sounded the same before, thanks to her. I should have known to leave her there, but my curiosity was leading me that day. As dark as the tunnel was, I went rushing into it.

        “See what?” This was for clarification purposes.

        “Your soul. Follow me.” With silent footsteps she whispered her way across the room. Her destination was a doorway placed between “Truth” and “Beauty”. I had little impulse to do otherwise, so I tied my hand to her shoulder and followed. What I imagined to find was my soul on a pedestal. But I was wrong.

        The room was of a smaller sort, although it felt bigger than it was because it was nearly completely barren. One strange piece of furniture occupied the room. It hung on the wall like a life-sized portrait, but it was no painting. It had a golden embroidered frame that made it seem even stranger. The surface looked poorly reflective and was predominantly black. I supposed that my soul was to appear in its image. It was a device of magical horror.

        I stepped before it. The mirror's image swirled and spun its stormy tale. It laughed cruelly as a form appeared in the darkness. I saw myself i all of my strength, standing boldly against all evils. My pride swelled, only to pop as my image was sapped of strength. My body was turning to dust. Some skin died and peeled off, while the rest became a strangled blue. The image, my distorted and dead image, was little more than skin and bones. My soul was starved and suffocated my by idiocy. Its eyes told of nothing less than a story of betrayal, of self-afflicted homicide.

        The image overwhelmed me. It possessed my hurting mind and told me to do one thing. The eyes shrivelled up and slipped from my soul's eye sockets. I lunged to save them, only to meet with the mirror's cold face. It was then that I obeyed.

        My legs carried me with an ungodly haste. My escape was to be made. It was time for a catharsis. It was time for my departure. The steel door swung open to my will. There was no hesitation in the way I left the trickster's hollow home. I did not care for one final look, except in the theatre of my mind. These events have been played out many times so that I may never forget the dreadful image of my own soul.

        I boarded the train with a determined step. I would not let myself die so easily.

-Zero