Fictitious Musings

Marty wanted to share a short story to kick off the weekend and it’s really good. Have you ever wondered what is beyond your mirror? Do you really know what’s looking back at you when you look in a mirror?

There’s a little graphic violence below, but trust me; Hank gets what he deserves in the end.

Fractured Reflection

Hank looked at his wrinkled shirt in disgust. “Damn it, Sarah. I can’t go to the club in this messed up thing.” He threw the shirt on the floor, glaring at his wife. “What the hell have you been doing all day?”

Sarah looked at the shirt on the floor. She desperately wanted to tell Hank he could iron the shirt himself, but his face was so red and that little vein in his forehead was throbbing. She knew better than to say anything when his mood got this bad. Unfortunately, he seemed to always be like this these days. She kneeled down to pick up the shirt but Hank grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her back up.

“I asked you what you’ve been doing all day.” He leaned in close and then shouted loud enough to make her ears ring. “Answer me!”

I am not going to cry, Sarah thought. Crying will just make things worse. She looked at her husband, fighting to hold back the tears. “I’m sorry, Hank. I thought I’d ironed it.”

Hank let go of her hair and stormed back to the closet, making sure to bump Sarah out of the way with his shoulder. He pointed at the clothes hanging up and shot her a menacing look. “I swear to God, woman, if I find one more shirt in here,” he held up a finger, “just one that looks like someone’s been sleeping in it for a week, you will regret it.” He turned his back to her and started sliding hangers around, almost seeming to take joy in the idea of finding another wrinkled shirt.

Sarah knelt down and picked up the piece of clothing that had offended her husband so much, muttering under her breath. “I already regret it, you idiot.”

Hank’s fist flew threw the air so fast she didn’t have a chance to avoid it. She felt the crunch of bone as his knuckles met her cheek and fell to the floor. Hank towered over her. “What did you say?”

She looked up at him, no longer trying to hold back the tears. “I said I already regret it, and then I called you an idiot.” She was thankful he was wearing dress shoes and not his steel-toed work boots when he kicked her in the stomach. She curled up as tight as possible with her arms over head, trying to protect herself as Hank’s foot slammed into her legs and arms. Finally, he reached down and jerked her to her feet.

“Is it time to play, Sarah? Is that it?” He shoved her, forcing her to stumble back and fall on the bed. Hank grinned. “Every few months, you seem to forget your place and I have to remind you.” He cracked his knuckles as he approached her. Sarah lashed out with all her might and kicked him between the legs. Hank hit the ground. Hard.

Oh god, Sarah thought. I have to get out of here or he’ll kill me this time. She ran for the door but Hank grabbed her ankle and pulled her down. As soon as she was on the floor, Hank crawled on top of her. Sarah slashed her fingers through the air, her nails biting into Hank’s face. He punched her in the jaw, causing her to almost choke as a couple of teeth went down her throat.

Hank climbed to his feet and dragged his wife up. “You want to leave, Baby?” He wiped blood off his face and looked at his hand. She was prepared for the punch this time and tried to roll with it but she was still knocked against the full-length antique mirror standing next to the dresser. Hank grabbed the back of her neck and slammed her face into the glass.

“Remember the promise, Baby? Til death do us part” He shoved her face against the mirror again, hearing the glass crack under the impact. He dragged her head back and forth across the mirror, feeling an almost childish delight at seeing her blood smear across the glass. He shoved her down and stepped back, looking at the clock. “Damn it! I’m going to be late now.” He slapped Sarah across the back of her head as he walked into the bathroom.

Sarah kneeled on the floor, her face feeling like it was on fire. She wanted to throw up but knew that would just make her stomach hurt more than it already did. She looked at her husband as he washed the blood off his face and hand. He used to be kind and sweet but that Hank was gone. Maybe it would be best to let him kill her so she could finally be free of him. She looked in the broken mirror to get an idea of how much makeup she’d have to use to cover up the latest signs of Hank’s temper from her friends and co-workers.

She jerked back when she found herself staring at a pair of legs instead of her messed up face. She looked up. It was her reflection in the mirror, but it was standing while she still knelt on the floor. She rubbed her eyes, thinking Hank had finally outdone himself and caused her brain damage. Her reflection was waiting patiently until she looked back at the mirror, then stepped back and picked up the reflection of the shirt. Mirror-Sarah walked into the mirror’s version of the bathroom and pointed at Hank’s back. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head.

Sarah looked over her shoulder into the bathroom. Hank finished doctoring his face and walked back into the bedroom, right past where Mirror-Sarah was supposedly standing. She looked back in the mirror. Her reflection was still there, looking slightly agitated now. She spread her arms wide, then pointed in the direction the real Hank had walked. She used her fingers to make a walking motion from the edge of the mirror to the center. Sarah understood. Hank’s reflection wasn’t in the mirror anymore.

“Damn it! Are you listening to me?”

Sarah flinched and looked at Hank. He was slipping into a crisp, white dress shirt that she hadn’t forgotten to iron. “I’m sorry, Hank. I didn’t hear you. My head’s hurting a little bit.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mirror-Sarah roll her eyes.

“You wouldn’t have to worry about headaches if you didn’t act stupid. You know Tuesday nights are when I go hang out with my friends… and you know I like to look nice when I go out on the town.”

“It’s just guys, Hank. Why do you have to look nice for a bunch of guys?”

Mirror-Sarah made a jerking-off motion. As bad as she felt, Sarah had to fight to hold in a laugh.

“I just like to look nice.” He looked at her, sneering. “I haven’t let myself go like you.”

Sarah glanced at the mirror out of habit, automatically wondering what she could do to make herself more appealing to her husband. Mirror-Sarah looked back at her. She had the same straight blonde hair and her face was scratched up from the glass, but her blue eyes burned with determination. She pointed towards Hank and pretended to tie a tie.

“I know you like to look nice, Hank. Come over to the mirror and let me do your tie for you.” She tried to smile but the pain made it appear as more of a grimace. “Like I used to do.”

Hank smiled and walked to Sarah, handing her his tie. He looked at the mirror, frowning. “It’s broke.”

Sarah looked at her reflection. Mirror-Sarah was still holding the wrinkled shirt. She held it up and tilted her head to Hank, eyebrows raised. Sarah nodded and her reflection grinned.

Mirror-Sarah raised her arms over the reflection of Hank and wrapped the shirt around his neck. Sarah could see the tension in her reflection’s arms as she tightened the material around Hank’s reflection. She stepped back with a gasp as Hank, the real Hank, dropped to his knees, clawing at his neck. Mirror-Sarah grinned maniacally as she tightened the shirt even more. Hank’s eyes bulged out as he struggled for breath. He looked at Sarah, anger and fear flashing in his eyes. She stepped back as he reached for her, fingers clawing the air.

Sarah watched as Hank’s face turned red, then purple. After a few minutes, his arms dangled lifelessly at his sides. Mirror-Sarah released the shirt and Hank’s body fell to the floor. She looked at Sarah and smiled, placing her palm against the glass. Sarah did the same. She was finally free. Her reflection looked her in the eye and mouthed the words ‘Til death do us part.’

You can find out more about Marty’s writing on his blog and chat with him on Twitter @ItsJustMarty.

The awesome photo at the top of the post was created by FullVocal on DeviantArt.

Tags:Fractured Reflection, Marty Shaw