Houdini

I leave the French doors open as I walk, barefoot, slowly towards the mirror. There's a mist about my feet ad I can barely see my reflection before me.

I leave the French doors open as I walk, barefoot, slowly towards the mirror. There's a mist about my feet and I can barely see my reflection before me. I stretch out my unsteady hands and let my fingers slip down the glass. The prints leave behind smudge stains, reminding me of clawing to escape something.
"Get out…" I murmur.
I draw myself closer, press my body against the mirror, and stare into my own eyes. But in the background, just over my shoulder, I can see them. They condense into black matter- shadows, if you will- and they gather to compare the two they see: myself, and my reflection.
I can hear them muttering. I know if I speak to them or move a muscle they'll leave. I don't want to close my eyes either, because I'm afraid that will dissipate them. I'm not sure if I want them to stay or go.
But for now, I resign myself back to my features. There's nothing wrong with them, really. I don't find faults. I'm not the sort of person who picks out imperfections consciously, I suppose.
I am tired. The shadows in the back of the room begin to talk louder, and I can make out a few words they say. "Enough." "Never." "There." "Help?" "None." "Elsewhere." "Still." "Silent."
Their words float around me like the fog that begins to rise to my ears. And I am too tired. My eyes are beginning to droop. My hands are sliding down the mirror and I'm losing my grip.

When I open my eyes again, the shadows are still there. I am lying on the floor with my cheek pressed to the wood planks. I can barely make out figures, almost. They don't exist, I know that, but I can't help but notice them. Only a few I can register body forms out of.
One is hunched over, almost curling into a fetal position while standing. I'm not too sure if the garble coming out of its mouth is actual words or just muffled melodies. Another stands next to it, almost clutching on to it feebly. It makes weak moans, and the lower half of it seems to be sliding away. Two more are almost intertwined with each other, but one is clawing at the wall and the other is falling to the ground.
I make my way to my feet suddenly. I expect the shadows to scatter, but they stay.
"What…are you?" I ask. I get no reply.
I take a couple hesitative steps forward, but then I realize.
They're not shadows.
Of course. I should have known.
I return to the mirror. There is nothing behind me now, but there is a random, useless pipe sitting a foot away from me. I snatch it up and inspect it.
It is heavy in my hand, and the top (or bottom, whichever) is curved like a spout. Both ends can be screwed on to something else. I guess you could say that two inclined planes wrapped around a cylinder, wrapped around the end of a pipe, could be connected to other pipes. But that would be complicating things, wouldn't it.
I lower the pipe to my side like a chef's knife or a batter's bat or a knight's sword.
The mirror stands in front of me, and suddenly, I don't want to look at it. It tells me nothing. I don't want to see my reflection in it.
I don't want to think about things. I don't want to notice if there are shadows behind me or not. I just…I don't know what I want. I think that I feel nothing right now and I am tired of it.
I take a couple steps back and bore my gaze at my reflection. I see what I don't want to see, and I shield my eyes and smash the pipe into the mirror with a forceful strike downwards.
The sound of shattering glass reaches my ears and I move my arm from my eyes to continue smashing the mirror to bits.
"Smash the mirror." The words come to me and I almost laugh. "It's not like they ever gave you any help or clues to anything in the universe."
I continued my turmoil until every piece of mirror was reduced to shards upon the floor. My feet were covered in glass, and might be slightly bleeding but as I stepped back carefully to survey my handiwork, I noticed I was fine.
I tossed the pipe to the right. It made a clanging sound as it hit the ground.
All I saw in front of me now was an empty frame. I picked it up by the dark wood molding and shook it a little until the remains of the mirror were excavated. Then I gently slung it over my shoulder and turned on my heel. I was careful to avoid any broken glass as I left.

Author's Note

interpret how you will, I suppose?
what were the shadows, really? what do you think?
vague notions of stuff I'm trying to deal with right now but don't want too, but it only truly makes sense to me.
tell me what you think, though, aesthetically.

pic by hellfirediva on deviant art -> http://faydescape.deviantart.com/#/du6n8n