AUTHOR'S CORNER;

MYSELF'S IMAGE IN THE MIRROR

(fiction)

In a moment of truth, at a point of time, in the split second between reality and imagination.  In that split second that lingers in the blinking of the eye and an image just barely seen from between the flutter of the eyelid; an image which is half real, half mad and grey in essence.  In a moment of truth, where the dusk and the night have not yet merged and have not yet linked, but stand side by side, almost touching like ghostly figures.  Where the last crow's cry can be heard of an evening as it flies off to seek refuge as the rustling of the trees hush the world into silence.  Where the sun's traces can be faintly seen upon a darkening sky and a bed of clouds gather in preparation for the moon.

In a moment of truth, when the shadows play upon the walls and the houses deflate and creak into restful slumber.  Where the dead feel rested and the living feel weary of life's great weight upon them.  In the moment of truth where heart and soul and mind berate one another for sorrows caused.  Where the human condition is apparent for what it truly is - murky,dark, sad and wanton. 

In a moment of truth, as I stand and bare all, my candle burning faintly and my image shimmering in the glass in front of me.    Where the ghosts have ceased to haunt and the spirits have flown away.  In an empty house, in an empty room with a single candle and a glass mirror.  I see her, I see her through the mist of sorrow.  I see her; wide eyed and ashen faced, staring back at me, and not even the soft candle light can hide her despair. 'Come onto me,' she beckons, 'come onto me and let us be one!' 

In a moment of truth, I see her, the child, the girl, the woman, the old maid!  I see the years in her eyes and the harshness upon her face.  I see the wind in her hair and the rain upon her back.  I see the tears in her hollow eyes and the words in her dried lips.  I see the daughter, the wife, the mother, the grandmother!  I see all of her and she is all nothing!  Withered and worn by time's passing hand.  Tired and forgotten by those she once knew.  Used as many women get used!  Fading, disappearing into the shadow of herself; no longer needed, no longer wanted, surplus and in the way! 'Come onto me,' she wails, 'come let us be one, let youth rejoice with age!'

In a moment of truth, where love's gentle hand has faded and passion's fierce breath has died.  Where memory has become the only sustenance for living, I see her, I see her!  I see past the old face and the crooked back, I see past the sad eyes and down turned mouth; I see her.  Her with her youthful glow, her with her smile so radiant.  I see the beauty and charm, I see the loveliness and laughter, I see her pretty eyes and full lips. 'Come onto me! she cries out to me.  'Come and join me and let us forever be one, let us join youth with age, sorrow with pleasure, let us infuse good with bad, happiness with despair and spark off life!  Come onto me, come on to me and let me live once more!'

In the moment of truth, where pain is so sharp through my soul, and the memories of loss and love are intertwined and the yearning of hope and despair are mixed with fear, I hear her and I take heed, 'Come onto me,' she whispers.  'Come onto me and bring me back to life, reach your hand inside the glass and pull me out, bring me back, let me breathe.  Join want with need, desire with fear, anger with joy and let us live, let us live!'

I see myself's image in the mirror and recognise her well; for she be me in years to come, and I am her before I take the journey.  We are not past and future, but instead parallel and intertwined and mixed and backwards and forwards! We are each other and not at all the other; for I am then and she is when.....  I look down at my pretty hand and admire my ring, pretty diamond ring.  I look over at my wardrobe and see my dress, white lace and long.  I look back at her and she smiles faintly, 'Come onto me, take me and run, run and don't let me become what you see now!'

I reach into the glass, take her hand, pull her out and she comes out with such force she stumbles on top of me and merges into me.  I run, run into the night, my dress hanging in my room, downstairs the wedding preparations are laid out.  I run, and she laughs; the young woman inside me, no longer old and battered by life and marriage.  I run, and take her with me; myself's image in the mirror!