Reflections, Part 1
A narrative of one's harshest critic
Reflections began as a warm-up, a way to stretch my long-unused writing muscles. Over time, it evolved into an anthology of personal struggle, unveiling the inner turmoil of coping with self-doubt, echoes of childhood trauma, and low self-esteem. The protagonist remains unnamed intentionally, as they represent anyone and everyone who has faced similar challenges at some point in their lives. The different parts of Reflections can be read in a running narrative or as separate stories, glimpses into the protagonist’s life.
She watched the white, swirling steam rise from her forearm as droplets of water trickled down to her feet. Leaning forward, she pressed her palm flat against the cool mirror and dragged it across, clearing away the condensation to reveal a young woman staring back. A drop of water slipped down her nose, falling onto the white marble countertop below. She sighed deeply, her chest rising and falling, as she continued to gaze at the woman staring back from the mirror.
The woman’s lips pursed as her gaze narrowed, “What are you complaining about? This will be good for us and you know it,” she rebuked her sharply.
She averted her gaze, staring down at her hands, “You’re right of course. It’s just… hard.” Her hands curled into fists before she slapped her palms on the counter top. “But we’ve got this! Now, let’s get moving!”
The woman gave her an assertive nod accompanied by a quiet grunt. Snatching up her phone, she opened her music app, selecting an upbeat pop song. As the rhythm filled the room, she began running a hairbrush through her long ebony locks. Whenever she encountered a snag, she paused, carefully working through it without pulling. Occasionally she held the hairbrush like a microphone, belting out lyrics with gusto. “I shake it off, I shake it off!” she sang, one hand in the air, the other gripping the brush. She began dancing in place, her head bopping to the beat, until she caught sight of the woman in the mirror, whose expression twisted with disgust; she froze mid-step.
“You look ridiculous,” the woman spat.
Her gaze dropped, and her shoulders sagged under the weight of her growing shame. She couldn’t muster the strength to look up again. Silence enveloped her as she stood motionless. A single tear traced a slow path down her cheek, landing softly on the back of her hand.
The woman in the mirror spoke again, her tone sharp, “You’re weak. Dancing around like a fool, only to cry when reality hits. Stop crying and pull yourself together. Let’s go.”
She sniffled, wiping away more tears with the back of her hand. Pressing her lips together and biting her bottom lip, she nodded at the woman in the mirror. Her red, teared-filled eyes dropped back to the floor as she slumped and turned away.
She knew the woman was right. She cringed at the mere thought of someone witnessing her ridiculous behavior. What possessed her to flail around and sing like that? And with no clothes on, no less. The idea was mortifying. She grimaced and shook her head, wishing she could erase the memory altogether.
She left the bathroom and turned down a dimly lit hallway. The weathered floor boards seemed to groan with every step she took. Naturally, they would creak for anyone but she felt they especially complained under her weight, as if protesting her presence. She hurried through an open doorway, quickly shutting the door behind her and pressing her back against it, as if to keep the woman in the mirror at bay.
In the room stood a medium-sized bed draped with a forest-green plush duvet, its center cradling a honey colored teddy bear snugly nestled among the folds. She turned towards an antique oak dresser, its corners worn and faded with time. The tarnished brass drawer added a touch of faded elegance. Resting atop the dresser was a grand oak mirror, anchored by wooden posts. The mirror’s glass, once bright, now held a mottled, vintage patina, casting a dreamlike reflection as though peering through a veil of nostalgia.
She turned slowly toward the mirror, dread pooling in her stomach as she anticipated what she would see. The woman stood on the other side, her gaze piercing through the glass. Wrapped tightly in a beige bath towel that barely clung to her form, the fabric strained to fully cover her curves. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders in damp waves, one hand resting casually on her hip, owning the moment.
The woman’s gaze softened, and she let out a resigned sigh. “Well, let’s do this,” she murmured, her voice laced with determination. Her eyes drifted over to the pile of clothes draped carelessly over an upholstered armchair, an all too familiar heaviness settling within her.
The beige towel slipped from her body, pooling silently at her feet as she stepped forward, her bare skin tingling in the cool air. She reached for the clothes on the chair—a pair of dark wash jeans, a floral, flowy blouse, and a dark brown cardigan. A cardigan, as always, was the final piece, a comforting shield she wore daily. It was more than just fabric; it was her armor, a familiar shell that cloaked her vulnerabilities, allowing her to face the world with a semblance of strength.
After pulling on the cardigan, she left the woman in the bedroom mirror behind, gently easing the door shut with a soft click. They reconvened in the bathroom, their reflections silently confronting each other in the dim light.
“So, the usual?” the woman suggested, her tone a mix of resignation and routine.
She nodded and reached for a black hair tie resting on the marbled counter. With practiced precision, she gathered her hair, pulling it back and twisting it into a tight, controlled bun. She wrapped the hair tie around the coil with a deft flick of her wrist.
As she tucked stray strands behind her ears, she met the woman's gaze once more. “This is as good as it gets,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of quiet resignation.
The woman gave her a curt nod, “It’ll do. We need to get moving, or traffic will hold us up and we’ll end up walking in with the crowd.”
The thought of being surrounded by scrutinizing eyes and the inevitable awkward conversations made her frown. She imagined the uncomfortable exchanges she would stumble through, her anxiety rising with each imagined gaze. Hurriedly, she exited the bathroom and headed down the hallway in the opposite direction, the floorboards continuing their protest with every step she took.
She slipped her feet into black velvet ballet flats with a smooth, deliberate motion, tucking her index finger into the back of each to secure her heel in place. Moving towards a dark wooden front door, adorned with stained glass shards of green and brown depicting outstretched tree branches, she reached for a green canvas bag resting on a nearby bench. Slipping the strap over her shoulder and resting it across her chest, she turned, glancing at a mirror across the room.
She caught sight of the woman watching her before taking a deep breath in through her nose, holding it briefly before exhaling slowly through her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut momentarily as she reassured herself, “We got this. It’s just another day.”
She turned the bronze knob and pulled the door open, allowing light to pour into the room. She stepped through the threshold, leaving the women behind her. The door creaked softly before clicking shut, sealing her departure.
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This story was featured on Top in Fiction! Thank you to Erica and the TiF community!