The Mirror

photograph via Yelda Yilmaz

There she was in this empty room. Their flat it used to be. Now, everything was gone except the mirror in the corner. She was standing in front of it, staring at her bare feet. The tiled floor was cold, and she felt the coldness trickling up her legs.

Taking a deep breath, she started to undress herself. Little by little she dropped her clothes: first her trousers, then her shirt, the stiff bra and her slip. Everything went down to the floor and was pushed aside, so that she could observe the skinny body in the mirror completely. Naked.

So she stood in front of the mirror. Her bare feet standing on the cold tiles. Her thin legs ended in her womb, turning into a flat belly. Her chest was moving slowly up and down with every breath she took. Her arms and hands were kept neatly at her sides. From her neck sprouted a head full of thoughts. It was covered slightly by her brown short hair which lay straight above her ears and eyebrows.

Her lips were dry and pale and she licked over them several times to soften them. But it did not help. With glassy eyes she looked at the person in the looking-glass. Glassy blue eyes she saw, empty. And then these eyes filled with tears. She could see how the room filled itself with a double bed, cushions and clothes everywhere lying on the floor. The chest of drawers and the oddities arranged on it. A photograph showing a happy couple at the Swedish seaside. She closed her eyes and tears dropped on her chest.

When she opened them again, there was nothing anymore. In the mirror, a person staring at her. She touched it, touched the other one's fingers, hands. The ring on her finger loosened and fell down. And when she wanted to lift it up, she broke down onto the floor. There she lay on the cold tiles. With her eyes closed she tried to listen to what was going on inside of her. But there was nothing. All she felt was an empty stomach, longing for something lively to be filled up with. And there was her heart beating softly. And it would not stop. It would carry on with all the emptiness inside of her. And this meant that she would carry on despite all this emptiness.

The ring lay close to her hand. It was golden, with a name engraved on it: Tom. She stared at the ring, the curved gravure. Now this had left her, too. It was all gone. She pressed her face on the floor and forced herself to look in the mirror once again. The other person was also lying on the tiling. She made a sad impression. Listening thoroughly to her breathing, she stared and waited for something to happen. But there was nothing. No one would enter the room and make her laugh. Nobody would touch her shoulder and help her to get up again.

She sat up and turned away from the mirror. The other person disappeared. Then she stood up, got dressed and went to the door. The mirror in the corner reflected the ring lying on the floor. Without turning around, she locked the door.

© Vanessa Wohlrath