My Reflections

My Reflections

A Story by Ian Faraway
"

A story of facing yourself and who you may or may not be.

"

"Who are you? Who am I?" The whispers overlapped over each other asking these 2 questions over and over, but the tone seemed to vary. One voice sounded panicked, another curious, another almost angry, depressed, and so on. Numerous voices asked the same question in a rainbow of emotion. 


I opened my eyes to my reflection. Everything was pitch black except for a single, strange light that shined down onto me. And I was surrounded in every direction by mirrors. 6 of them. All of them with my reflection staring back at me. I think it was me, but none of the reflections moved when I did. They stood like statues. 3 of them had their hands behind their backs while the other 3 had their arms resting by their sides. They all had blank expressions on their faces. Almost lifeless expressions. Their mouths were the only thing that moved as they whispered these questions.


 Whispering. Asking. Wondering. Demanding. It felt like I was prey being circled by a pack of angry wolves.


The whispers grew louder, and echoed into the nothingness, and their voices started to align with each other and merge as one until it sounded like a ritualistic chant, monotoned yet authoritative, saying: "Who are you? Who am I?"


They stopped abruptly after repeating themselves a few times and the eerie silence was only a brief welcome as it was replaced with ringing in my ears. I couldn't speak, even when I tried to respond the words could somehow get stuck in my mouth, unable to escape. 


"Are you a loving and caring friend?" The reflection behind me spoke up at last. I turned and face him... me. His voice sounded like it was mocking me, like it was cracking an inside joke that I wasn't in on. 


The reflection next to it moved its' hands from behind its' back and I saw that there was something in its hand. It was only after he put it on that I realized it was a mask. One of those creepy, drama theater masks. It was a white mask with holes for the eyes and a smile drawn on it.


"Or is it a role that you play?" It asked.


The reflection next to it spoke up," Do you bring joy to yourself and others?"


"Or are you afraid and miserable?" The next reflection in the circle brought its back from behind its back and put on another mask, but this one had a frowny face drawn on it and a single, blue tear drawn just below the right eye.


Then there were just two reflections who hadn't spoken yet. My heart was racing but my mind was black. I didn't know what to think or say, or if I could say anything at all, even if it were random and irrelevant. A big part of me didn't know what they were talking about, but there was something nagging at me. Clawing at the walls of my soul in an attempt to be heard. A small mouse crawling around within the walls of an enormous house.


"Are you a mature adult? Are you smart and wise?" Asked one of the last reflections.


"Or are you a joke? A jester?" Asked the last. Another mask came out. This one was the creepiest one. It was the god awful laughing mask that gave me nightmares when I first encountered it at a young age. The mouth was one big hole and the eyes were almost like slits, like it was laughing. At me, maybe?


"Do you lie to yourself? Do you wear a mask?" They all asked in unison this time.


 "Who are you?"


"Who am I?" Only one voice rang out. For a second, there was silence and confusion, then the lone voice spoke again.


"Who am I? Who am I?" It asked. The question came more frequently and sounded more desperate each time. I looked around at the reflections but the sound didn't come from them. It came from me.


Panic was starting to set in and my breath became quick and shallow. If I did lie so well that I could fool even myself, then could I trust any answer I come up with? Was there even a way to figure out what was true and what wasn't?


These questions sent a painful shock through my head causing me to grab my temples. I froze. I hit something hard and I didn't feel my hand against my head, I felt something smooth and cold. Polished wood? I noticed that whatever it was moved slightly whenever I pushed from either side of my head. All the reflections that had spoken to me were gone except for one in front of me. It moved as I did, whenever I did. Its facial expression showed fear and confusion. My face looked normal, but why didn't it feel like it?


I pushed up from the chin and whatever I was touching with my hand went with it. Past the nose, eyes, and finally the forehead until whatever I was pushing broke free from my hand and fell to the ground with a deafening Clank! I picked it up and almost fell backwards in surprise. What fell from my face to the floor was a mask, but this one was different from the ones my reflections wore. The mask was my face. It had every little detail from the lips, eyes, nose bridge, even the birth mark that rested underneath my right eye that was shaped like a backwards money sign. It looked real. The eyes looked full of life and fear, and when I tried to open my mouth to say something, it moved its lips. There was no mistaking it. This mask was my face. It was me. It had to be.


I looked up in a frenzy, desperate for answers. But I immediately regretted it when I saw the reflection in front of me. It was a faceless individual. I was so frightened that I fell over my own foot trying to back away. The reflection did the same thing. Every slight movement I made, it copied. Fear was soon accompanied by curiosity, a need to get to the bottom of what was going on. I got to my knees and crawled to the mirror, gently touching the glass with my fingertips when I got there. Trying to reach out and confirm that it was real and it was in my head. But the reflection followed me and I was face to face with it now. It wore my clothes and moved the way I did. The reflection had to be me, right? But where's the face? Where's MY face? It had no facial features. No eyes or nose. Nothing. It was like a blank, white slate on my face. The only puzzle piece that seemed to fit was the face mask that was on the floor behind me.

 

"What? How?" I stumbled. This only brought more questions and no answers. Did this mean that I wore a single mask that could change whenever it needed to and the real me was just nothing?


"Who are you? Who am I?" The reflection and the mask behind me spoke at the same time. I screamed in terror and kicked the mask into the darkness behind the mirrors. 

I stood there for a few minutes just staring at this thing in the mirror. At the mystery that was me.

 

"Who are you? Who am I?" The reflection asked again. It didn't have a mouth but it spoke. I heard it. I saw it's jaw move and the sound just omitted from its face.

"What do you want from me?!" I screamed and punched the mirror hard enough to shatter the glass. I ran my bloodied hand across my face and couldn't feel anything. No lips. No nose. No eyes. Nothing.


"So that reflection was me? It was the real me?" I thought to myself.

 

A whole storm of emotions began to brew inside of me: anger, sadness, fear, and confusion, among others that I couldn't begin to fully describe. But this storm felt dark and covered me like a cloak. I threw my bloodied fists into every mirror in the circle until they were all piles of shiny dust on the floor and I was left laying on the ground in the center, grasping for air, sweating, and bleeding.

 

In the distance, I heard the whispers one last time ask "Who are you? Who am I?" The light above me began to fade until I was left alone in the darkness.

© 2017 Ian Faraway


Author's Note

Ian Faraway
I like this concept and want to improve on it. If you find any grammatical issues or holes, let me know. Also let me know how I can make it better. Sometimes the written word doesn't feel like what's in the head but I want to get close.

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It leaves the questions unanswered. I like stories that make me think. I don't want to be spoon fed. I want to work out the story

Posted 2 Years Ago



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Added on January 13, 2017
Last Updated on January 13, 2017
Tags: dark fantasy, writing, story, reflection, fiction

Author

Ian Faraway
Ian Faraway

Somewhere, NH



About
Ian Faraway is simply a pen name and is not my actual name. Here are a few things to note: 1. If you need me to read anything you've written, please feel free to PM me. Also, let me know if you.. more..

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