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What am I afraid of?
What am I Afraid Of? or Mirror, Mirror on the Wall
The mirror mocked her from the corner of the room. She had deliberately put it in a place where it could not unexpectedly confront her; she had to be in control of when to look into it. It could not be allowed to ruin her day. The truth of the fairy tale was that the mirror could never lie. To the question, “who is the fairest of them all?” She knew the answer would disappoint her, even though it would not surprise her.
She chose clothes that would not draw attention. Black was too striking; she usually chose grey or muted browns. Today she chose thick, comfortable clothes to keep out the winter chill. The day outside seemed to offer her the kind of dull drabness promised of dry biscuits. Her mind felt full of nothing, a kind of white noise filling her mind. Today would not be a day of decisions.
Who did she need to be today? The thought of the impersonation required of her wearied her. Her mind was holding its breath, motionless, impenetrable. She tried in vain to catch her thoughts, to focus on the hours to come, but the effort was tempered by an aura of nameless expectation hovering around her with vague menace.
For a moment she allowed herself the pleasure of dreaming about another life; one where she lights up rooms, her skin is clear and glowing, her eyes attractive. Men fall over themselves to be near to her. She realises that it would have to be a world in which she is comfortable with being noticed.
With a sigh she moved to pull back the flimsy curtains, to finally let in the day.
A ray of light fell onto her face and as she turned the mirror threw back an image of unexpected tenderness. The light caressed her cheek and her long neck like the back of a loving hand sweeping down her curves. She looked away quickly, anticipating the mirage would dissolve. But something made her look back and again she saw an image of soft beauty.
Her pale skin showed tones of a mixture of subtle pinkish colours that she had not noticed before. It was as if emotion were shifting beneath her skin, life trying to make itself known.
She shifted position to look fully into the mirror, to face it, to challenge it. She could see a quiet strength, something that was worth seeking within the depths. It was as if her self was tantalisingly shifting beneath the thin surface, inviting a further look. The face looking back at her promised more, called her closer. If someone gave it the time they would find something of great value, someone for whom shyness was a gentle enticement.
She breathed. Not just a shallow release of air but as a body releasing a long held strain. Her lungs filled, her neck lengthened. She felt as if she could face the day, not with confidence but with a strength borne of vulnerability.
She would be herself.