Fragmented Reflection

November 8th, 8:43 p.m.

I ripped open the passenger door, breathless. Maya, still warm, laid limp as I pulled her in my arms. Her blood coated everything in sight. The overwhelming scent of rust invaded the car; it clung to the dashboard, the windshield, the linoleum seat covers... it clung to my hands. Deafened my senses. I couldn’t hear anything, although I could feel the sensation of screams rising from my throat between my gasps for air.

I don’t really know how long I stayed there, kneeling on the crumbled asphalt and cradling her broken body. They told me to move away from her. Why? No, you don’t understand. She’s my best friend, I need to stay with her. Please let me stay with her! I watched as they took photographs of her body. For evidence, they told me, as I sat with a blanket over my shoulders. Who gave me this blanket? I couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. “What happened? Can you tell me what you saw?” I heard over and over. I tried to answer, but no words escaped my mouth.

November 9th, 1:56 a.m.

My parents had arrived soon after, and when I was finally allowed to leave, we drove back in silence. When we got home, I silently went into my room. I felt numb. I gingerly sat on the stool that stood in front of my vanity. It had been a gift for one of my birthdays, years ago. Carved details of wood painted over with a cheap white paint delicately framed a large mirror that I used every day to get ready for school.

I stared at my reflection. Oh god, I hadn’t even realized that during those hours, I must’ve gotten her blood smeared on my cheeks. I frantically pulled on my sleeves and tried rubbing it off my face in a panic. No no no no no, I thought, I can’t think about her right now, I need to get this off, oh god, oh god, oh g-

Suddenly, a loud CRACK! brought me back to the reality of my dark bedroom. I gasped and shot up, backing away towards the wall behind me. After a few seconds of silence, I slowly approached my mirror.

Somehow, a few inches of the glass had fractured in an outwards-branching crack, just in its upper-right corner.

November 12th, 2:14 p.m.

“It’s not your fault, dear,” they said. The whole morning I had heard such condolences meant to bring me some kind of comfort. How could I feel better as I watched Maya lowered into the ground? The sun had shone brilliantly, but I felt insulted that the day could be so beautiful with her death clouding my mind. Inside her home, the dull aching in my chest became a throbbing pain as the framed pictures of her childhood seemed to loom above my head and crush me into the ground. Oh, god… this was too much. I had to leave. I had to get out. I hastily bid her parents goodbye, who paused their mourning to give me a hug, and ran down her street for a few minutes until I reached my own house and collapsed in my bedroom.

The sound of my crying overwhelmed me. Gnawing pain swelled in my chest and ate away at me in waves. This was never supposed to happen.We were supposed to see each other graduate. Help each other through the maze-like transition from adolescence to adulthood. Grow up with each other. Fragments of our shared memories rose in my mind—Maya comforting me, explaining how to do our calculus homework, and being on the receiving end of hour-long phone calls about the most trivial things. She was always there for me… but I wasn’t there for her. All of the sudden, another loud CRACK! resonated from my vanity mirror. I could now see my distorted reflection staring up at it from the floor, my image fully consumed by the splintered glass. Then, I saw the blood on my face. Maya’s blood? How? No! No, no, no, not again, please not again.

I cried out and ran to my broken mirror, prepared to scrub off her blood when I halted. My face was already bare. I stared at my fragmented reflection, confusion wrecking my head as my heart began racing with fright. I wanted to run, but I knew that I couldn’t escape this hell. I choked on the last of my sobs and tried to sleep in silence.

November 16th, 12:19 a.m.

I haven’t left my room since her funeral. I ache to hear Maya’s voice sometimes. Often, I’ll wake up thinking that she’s calling my name, when in reality, I’m alone. I spend most of my hours sitting on my stool, gazing at my reflection. Sometimes, I don’t recognize myself anymore. The girl on the other side seems to lag—as if she merely imitates my expressions in a game of copy-cat. I sat there once more and buried my head in my hands as I remembered what happened.

November 8th, 8:32 p.m.

We had just finished eating dinner after a day of hanging out. I was driving with the windows down, the wind tangling our hair while we entertained each other with jokes and laughed. “Let’s stop at a gas station quickly,” I suggested. She frowned. “It’s already dark, can’t we just go home? We have our Calc test tomorrow, you know, and we both need to study for it.” We did, but I didn’t really care. I hated the reminder of school. The thought of spending the next few hours alone in my room and studying integrals with frustration felt like a slow suffocation. If mindless procrastination was the solution, I would gladly oblige, and Maya knew that. “It won’t be that long, I promise. I’ll look around for some snacks and be right back,” I reassured her. I could tell she wanted to protest, but instead, she pursed her lips and looked away. She never objected to me. I resented myself. Why was I so selfish?

We pulled into the parking lot and I jumped out of my car without bothering to lock the doors or to say good-bye. Minutes passed as I roamed the aisles of processed snacks, occasionally passing a tall man doing the same, but glancing at the parking lot every now and then. I thought nothing of it.

He soon left without purchasing anything, but all I was thinking was that there would be no long line in an otherwise empty convenience store. Just as I was about to pay the bored teen waiting behind the checkout counter, a scream resounded throughout the store. Whipping my head towards the source, I saw the man who left without paying in the parking lot, trying to pull open my car door while Maya screamed and desperately pulled on the handle from the inside. He had a gun in his hand. As he was shouting open, he pulled the trigger. For a moment, everything was still. He suddenly looked up at me with a look of horror on his face, then fled. I couldn’t breathe as I saw her body crumple against the car seats. I flung open the car door and could only hold her silently in shock as the police arrived.

November 16th, 12:20 a.m.

The sound of tentative cracking brought me back to the present. I lifted my head back to my reflection, who stared back into my eyes. Oh my god, this is my fault. My fault. It’s my fault that she’s dead. It’s my fault. I began gasping with guilt but stopped as I noticed something peculiar. The cracks on the mirror were slowly spreading, branching out further and further, until the entire surface was covered in jagged fragments. My broken reflection stared at me again, except this time she faced me with an expression of betrayal on her face. “Yes. Your fault,” she hissed.

The mirror finally burst into a million pieces and shattered, leaving behind an empty frame and an empty girl.