Mirror

There was a girl who lay crippled and distraught at the corner of the room. I watch her for days, weeks and years but I never got a chance to talk to her. Everytime I saw her, she was too weak to even speak a word of her sufferings. One day I sat across the room, staring at her for hours. After hours of waiting patiently, she finally stood and sat across to me. Our eyes met for the first time, hers were filled with tears and swollen from all the crying. I finally said "you look sad" and instantly she replied "you look like you're lying". Stunt by her words hissing straight, I took a step back. There were drawings across the floor and books filled with familiar handwritings written across the pages. There were pictures that made a mess across the floor. As I pick up the pieces I realise that those were me. Connecting each of the pieces as if it was a puzzle I was lost at how she could've had all of this in her possession.
The room now dim dark as if I was stuck in a sepia tone coloured world. Her body was filled with scars, some were long and harsh and some were almost healed while the rest seemed too deep that it's made it's mark there forever. She smirked as if realising I was staring at her body filled with scars. I just smiled and continued to study the pictures and drawings. Whomever who drew those drawings had ability but was never polished. The poems were beautiful but dark and as I study the pages, it was filled with pain, lost and fear. You could almost cry as you read the pages, marks from the tears that shattered across the pages smudges the inks yet, it was still readable.
Then it dawn on me that while reading it almost brought tears I felt a thud of spear stab straight through my heart. The pain was there, it was bursting to make me scream and cry it out but I remain silent. I stare at her and realise that it was all me. Those memories, those pictures even the diary filled with dim and darkest words was all mine.
Reminiscing the memory, of me sitting among friends and laughing while enjoying a sip of coffee. Simply meeting people to discuss projects and making fool jokes in class at the same time leaving what was close to me, my diary, my music and my art. Everything made sense, I was chasing something that thought would make me happy but instead I was chasing lies. Every day sitting before the mirror she place a mask to masquerade her pain. The words she said was true and the saddest part was that she was me. Who am i?

(A short story inspired by life and the music from Plumb)

13th October 2014