it’s weird to see yourself in your own feed…
I sit alone, kneeling on a richly stained oak floor. I am facing a mirror, large and round with scalloped and curving details. The mirror hangs in the air silently floating, small threads of glittering tendrils wrapping around it and in every crevice, glowing and creeping slowly over the surface.
Brushing the surface of the floor with my right hand, I pull a large knife from it. The blade is razor sharp and from within it, comes a humming metallic buzz. Without ever taking my eyes off my reflection, I grab a handful of dry and tangled red hair in my left hand. Slowly I raise the knife to the hair and send it slicing through each strand as if it were made of water. No resistance. I relish every infinitesimal snap as the follicles of every handful are severed, never taking my eyes from those in my reflection.
When I am through, I am surrounded by the remnants of my hair. A circle of red. I hold up my right hand and where there once was a knife, there now sits a flat circular rock. I break gaze with the mirror to look at the stone. I have a memory of choosing it for a purpose. I remember the first time I saw it, underneath the small corpse of a bird with yellow and grey feathers. No eyes. I remembered that he’d had no eyes. I had taken the piece of earth from beneath him and thanked him, though I didn’t know why. It seemed appropriate at the time. (To my knowledge, this isn’t a real memory, but it felt like one in the dream).
Shifting from my memory into the present, my eyes return to the reflection: shoddy hair, unruly and uneven, and the eyes that stared back into mine so diligently in spite of their dark and heavy lids. A moment or two passes and my eyes begin to lose focus staring through the mirror, seeing but not seeing.And then I woke up. Obviously.
