Girl in the Glass

Aislyn Clark

I stood facing the girl in the glass who was holding herself the same way as I. Her back was straightened, the fingers on her left hand grazed her collarbone, and her right hand laid on her stomach.

I lifted my left arm into the air and she repeated. The girl was my practical reflection. She was a taller woman like me, her blonde hair forming nicely around her almond shaped head. She had the same sad, long eyelashes, a light droop of her eyes, the gentle downturn of her rosy lips, and the slight furrow of her brows.

Although we looked like twins, she was much more fragile. Her apparent sorrow and sickly demeanor stood out like a sore thumb. She was very pale, her eyes swollen from nights of crying and her cheeks hollow from starvation. She wore a black t-shirt that hung from her bony shoulders to her lousy hips. The v-neck in the shirt exposed her cleavage and collarbone, which looked as if someone had taken her bones, laid the thinnest layer of clay over the bone and muscle, and pressed it to her body.

Her sickness radiated a weird sense of beauty, which caused both of us to shiver.

“Do we have the same scars?” I asked her. She shrugged. So, to check, I tilted my head to the right and so did she. The fleshy and inflamed red bumps wandered up her neck and hid behind her ear. I turned my left arm, looking for and then seeing the fleshy scar that ran up her own left forearm.

My scars looked fresh on her weak body. A jolt of guilt rang throughout mine. I felt myself begin to shake, giving me that uneasy feeling again. I slowly retreated from the glass and so did she.

“What are you?” I asked the girl.

She mimicked my words.

We bit our bottom lip, beginning to tremble. My heart began to pound against my chest, my brain began to feel all fuzzy and rushed, and my mouth began to dry out. We gasped for a breath, pressing ourselves against the white doors behind us.

“Who are you?” we cried. Startled by our synchronization, we looked at each other in shock.

“Why are you doing this?” we screamed back. A quick beeping echoed throughout the room I stood in.

She moved forward, toward the glass, and I felt myself move too. I met her brown eyes and she met mine. We lifted our hands and touched the glass barrier between us.

“What do you want?” we asked each other. “I want you to stop!” we screamed in retaliation.

We started to sob, and I just...I couldn’t do it anymore.

I looked away from the glass and shut my eyes tightly, sliding down the door. I hiccuped and sobbed louder than I ever have before.

I sat there for a while, unwatched by anyone but the girl in the glass. I hugged my knees, pulling myself closer and further away from her.

I don’t know how long we'd been here before I lifted my head and opened my eyes, resting them on a crack in the wall. Sniffling, I slowly let myself go before crawling over across the wide white room toward the crack. I used my shaky hands to try and claw out the piece of the wooden wall. It didn’t give but so much, so I pushed my fingers into the wall. The wood pushed back against my hands, pulling up parts of my skin. I screamed in pain, but persisted. I put both of my feet on either side of the crack, tightened my grip, and pulled.

I pulled and pulled, leaving a trail of blood in the wall. But finally, the wood gave in and broke off. The backlash sent me tumbling backward. I let out a sob as I got on all fours and pulled myself to the piece of the blood-stained white wood that laid on the floor in front of me.

Once I had it in my hands, I stood up. Crying and breathing irrationally, I wandered over to the glass where the girl still sat against the door.

It was like someone pressed pause on a TV; she gave zero movement. I wiped my nose, drew back the wood, and smashed it against the glass.

All the glass did was emit a small crack.

I drew back the wood again and hit the glass with much more strength.

The crack widened.

“GET UP,” I yelled at her, but she still didn’t move. I drew it back further and began bashing the wood against the mirror.

It wasn’t breaking.

I dropped the wood and kicked at the glass with all my strength, sending a great numbing pain riveting up my leg. I fell back, screaming in pain. My bloody and slippery hands pressed against something sharp. I opened my eyes to see glass all around me. Behind the glass stood a black stone. I screamed louder and louder in the white room, which seemed to scream back at me. I closed my eyes and grabbed my ears to shut out the noise.

My white door opened behind me. Arms wrapped around my body and lifted me onto a bed. I screamed and tried to kick against the arms, but they buckled me to the bed with tight leather straps. I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder and a relief rushed over me.

My tears came to a stop as I opened my eyes, face to face with a plump, homely woman standing over me.

“Oh, you poor thing…” she muttered, brushing pieces of my hair away from my face. They moved me out of the room on the rolling bed and into a green room. In this green room, they stuck a needle into my arm that connected to a plastic bag on a metal pole. People scurried around me, putting things into my body that felt like they shouldn't be there.

Someone put a burning lotion on my neck and my arm, another one took a warm rag and dabbed at my face with it. They cleaned my hands, stuck things in my leg, and then left me with that homely woman.

She sat on the edge of the white bed in the green room, then rested her hand on my shoulder. I couldn't feel her hand.

“You did great, sweetie. We’ll go for round two tomorrow once you’re healed,” she said to me before standing up and walking out of the room.

My eyebrows furrowed as I turned my head to stare at the door she walked out of.

I sat in silence, wondering what to do.

I lifted my head. They had only strapped down my hands and my feet, so I could still move with some limitation.

I looked around the room, before my eyes rested on the glass in front of me.

There she was again. Blonde, pretty, sad, sick. I screamed.

Kairi Chandler

“You’re loved.”

The person through the screen tells me The one who doesn’t know me How I look, How I talk, Or how I act

“You’re loved.”

The text on my phone reads I stare at it, wondering just how… How am I loved?

The brightness of my phone shining on my empty, expressionless face

“You’re loved.”

The voice lies to me

If I was loved, I wouldn’t feel the way I do I wouldn’t feel so unsupported and hurt Love can be faked and can fool its receiver

“You’re lonely.”

I tell myself before bed. Holding my own body the way I wish someone would hold me My heart has never felt like such a heavy burden

Beautiful Heart

Madison Cinco

Chordae tendineae

Papillary muscles

Heart strings, precordia

Circulatory system

Beautiful heart, soul tie Strings put back together

Slowly healing a heart

One that he didn’t hurt Vulnerability

Weakness, an open door

Unguarded, defenseless Vulnerability

Chordae tendineae

Papillary muscles

Art: Kyla Thompson/Inspired by vintage comic art