Charred Reflection

‘Trust me, I’ve tried to change. I’ve definitely tried to stop being such a coward and just look in the mirror. But I swear on my life, I really can’t. Call me a coward for being scared of death, go ahead. I don’t want to die, especially not in the way she would kill me. I-’ I stop writing as soon as I feel a hand on my shoulder. A cold chill rushes through me from my head to my toes. I hate being touched. I look up at my teacher, whose face wears a look of exhaustion and pure annoyance.

“Clarity, what are you writing about?” my teacher, Ms. King, asks in a tired voice. My heart beats quickly and I still feel the weight of her hand on my shoulder. I want it off. I look up at her, but don’t make eye contact. I can’t.

“You told us to write about our worst fear, and that’s what I’m doing,” I say to her in a quiet voice. She just sighs.

“Clarity,” she says, “haven’t we talked about this? You can’t keep writing about imaginary things, you need to face reality.”

I glare at my notebook containing the writings of my worst fear. No one understands. Face reality? This is reality! Her hand was still resting on my shoulder. I closed my eyes and whispered, “Get your hand off of me.” I feel her lean down as she asks, “What did you just say?”

Without even thinking, I grab her wrist and push it off, all while shouting, “Get off!” The whole classroom turns to look at me, and I look up at Ms. oh King, who looks shocked. Once again, without thinking and without any hesitation, I close my notebook and shove it into my bag. I get up as quickly as I can and rush out the door with no intentions of returning. I walk the empty halls of my highschool, noticing every crack in the tile as I walk, refusing to look up at the glass case of awards on the left side of the hall. I’ve already made that mistake several times.

I approach the door, but I don’t look up as I push it open. Then, finally, I’m outside. I finally look up and admire at the world around me. Just outside of my horrid high school, a beautiful oak tree stands tall and firm, surrounded by luscious green grass. Birds fly by, puffy white clouds fill the sky, and the sun shines bright in the sky just as it always does. Just as it always will. I love the outside world much better than the inside, so bright and positive. With a deep breath in and out, I begin the walk towards home since I refuse to drive a car. I’m not going back to that unforgiving, disapproving 10th grade language arts classroom.

The wind blows through my hair as I walk. I haven’t cut it since 4th grade, and I’m not exactly sure what it looks like right now. It might be smooth, it might be ratted, all I know is it’s down, brown in color, and free. That’s how it has been for quite a while.

I know that all of this sounds insane and confusing. Believe me, I feel the same way. This will sound absolutely crazy, but I don’t know what I look like. I have a general idea of what my appearance is, but I have no idea what I look like right now as a teenager. My eyes are gray, my cheekbones are higher than normal, my top lip is smaller than my bottom lip, and obviously my hair is long and brown. At least this is what everyone tells me.

I haven’t seen my reflection since 4th grade. Yes, I’ve accidentally looked in the mirror several times throughout my life, and I have glimpsed at windows and glass cases, but I’ve never seen myself. Not since I was 9.

After a few minutes of walking, I finally approach my house, my eyes still down like always. As I walk up the steps to my door, I still don’t look up. My hand searches for the doorknob and I quickly shut my eyes to avoid looking at the reflection in the knob. Once I enter my home, I look up and breathe a sigh of relief. At last, I think to myself, Safety. I hear footsteps from down the hallway, and my mom walks to where I am. Thankfully she’s far away enough that I can look into her eyes.

“Clarity, what are you doing here? Don’t you have another hour of school?” she asks in a soft spoken voice, just like mine.

Obviously I lie to her. There’s no way I could tell her that I pushed my teacher’s hand away and shouted and left the building in such a rush. “I wasn’t feeling so great, Mom, so they let me go home. I told them you were waiting outside to pick me up, and I just walked home.” She seems to buy it. She usually does. I smile gently at her and walk to my room, doing everything I can to keep my eyes down.

Oh yes, the dreaded hallway. On the left side of the hallway, there is a fancy white-framed mirror that originally belonged to my grandmother. When she died back when I was 7, the mirror automatically went to us. I used to love looking at my reflection in that mirror, and it always seemed like that mirror had some sort of magic that made you appear even more beautiful..

Right as I am about to pass the mirror, I stop. I’m not sure why I stop, I just do. My gaze slowly lifts up from off the ground, and I wonder maybe, just maybe, she won’t be there when I look in the mirror. Maybe my pain and suffering is over. I take a deep breath and quickly turn my head towards the mirror.

Amber eyes that appear to be lit with fire stare back at me. My heart appears to stop the second I lock eyes with it. The woman in the mirror is not me. Her face is charred, black as coals, and her hair is disgustingly frayed. Worst of all, her glowing eyes press me and burn me, destroying all the courage I’ve ever had and causing every bit of my sanity to go up in flames. They just look at me accusingly. Look at what you’ve done! The eyes scream at me, and I can feel the flames consuming me. I hear the voice in my head, occupying every thought and banishing every memory. You will pay for this. My death will not be forgotten! Somehow, I find the strength to pull away from her. I see a huge flash of light and my whole body goes numb. My eyes sting and tears fall down my face.

I never meant to start that fire. I thought that the match had burned out when I was playing in her house. Because I was only 9, I didn’t have to face any criminal charges, and it was a total accident after all. But she won’t leave me alone. She has been with me, replacing my reflection ever since the fire. Ever since I unknowingly burned down the house. She wants me to feel the fire, too.

This is what no one, not even my own family, has ever been able to understand. The doctors all say that it's all in my head, some sort of horrible mental condition. Since the incident in 4th grade, everyone thinks I’ve just gone insane.

But I swear on my life, I haven’t.