Mirror

She is staring at him from the other side of the mirror. He wants to reach through and join her, join his personal ‘Alice’, but the glass never yields to him, and she continues to stare.

Sometimes she taunts him, knowing his desire for pain, and smears hateful love letters in blood on her side of the glass.

Sometimes he tries to ignore, to quit, but his ‘Alice’ keeps calling him back, calling him to uncover the mirror and fantasise again.

Sometimes she kills people, knowing his frustration that it can’t be him at her mercy, can’t be him pleading for her to go further…

Sometimes he wonders what would happen if he smashed the damn thing, and the look in her eyes when the thought crosses his mind tells him he would miss her dearly.

Sometimes she tries to tell him of all the things she wants to do to him, but the glass refuses to let any sound past and he goes on wondering.

One time, she pushed him too far, and he punched the mirror. The glass cracked, one single beautiful line, and she faded away while rubies trickled the length of the rift.

Sometimes he wakes in the night feeling cold, only to discover a pool of blood underneath him and deep rents in his back.

One time he woke to find his ‘Alice’ leaning over him, razor sharp nails already re-decorating his skin, and heard her voice, hissing in his ear:

‘My name isn’t Alice.’