The mirror is my enemy. It’s a pathological liar staring back at me, mocking me. I try to convince myself it’s a funhouse mirror distorting my shape. I stand in my bedroom, studying my facial expression.
The room is in shambles. Clothes hang off my copper bedpost, the dresser drawers are overturned, and my undergarments are scattered along the floor. The stranger’s corpse is reclining in a wicker rocking chair by the open window. The scene looks suspicious, but I swear. I am not a bad person.
Fate believers may say I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I don’t believe in fate. There are plenty of certainties in life until you are uncertain. Ironically, the saying ‘seeing is believing’ applies to my current predicament. The mirror tells me everything I need to know, but the disbelief is hard to shake.
I made a mistake last night, and no amount of fate can rewind the clock. It’s too late.
The lit alleyway was deceivingly peaceful. Empty cars lined the sides of an already too-narrow street. No parking signs are blocked by commercial vehicles so that no one will get a ticket at this time. One street lamp is out, but the rest lack illumination. I am cautious by nature, but this time, I threw caution to the wind and pursued spontaneity.
My first mistake was letting people’s opinions of how I act influence my decision-making.
My second mistake was picking an alleyway to test my resolve.
It was a shortcut to my apartment. It would shave an entire five minutes off the twenty-minute journey. Before leaving the sidewalk’s safety, I paused to reconsider my choice.
The orchestra of taunts from family and friends played in my head;
“Live a little!”
“Oh my god, you are such a bore!”
“Come on! Aren’t you tired of always playing it safe?”
The taunts fueled my chaos. Each step forward became easier and easier. I was confident this was the right decision. Carefree and proud of myself, I march onward.
The scratching noise jolts me back into reality and out of my delusional ‘good choice.’ I glance side to side, up and down and behind, but see nothing. It must be a raccoon. I push forward, but the sound gets louder.
I quicken my steps, beads of sweat forming on my brow. I push my hands in my pocket, grabbing my pepper spray.
The scratching turns to hisses; the hisses turn to whispers.
“I am calling the cops! Stay away from me!” as the words left my lips, the noise ceased.
My head darts in every direction, trying to assess the level of danger. A flickering of the lights behind me sends a chill through my bones. One by one, the streetlamps bust.
I break into a run as the alleyway transforms into a runaway of death.
The bulbs shatter, showering my head with bits of sharp confetti. I hold up my forearm instinctively to shield my eyes. I didn’t notice the bicycle lying in the middle of the road.
It sends me flying in the air like an acrobat. The sparks from the busting blubs lit the action scene with grace. I wish life were an action movie, and the director would yell cut.
I hit the ground with a thud. Dazed and confused, I lay with my cheek pressed firmly on the shards of glass. They tunnel into my cheek, and I feel the warmth of my blood pooling around me.
My eyelids were stuck open as I rolled over onto my back. Blood gushes from the myriads of glass-sized holes in my face. I watched streetlamp’s fireworks display plunge the alleyway into darkness.
Whispers echoed off the cars, but I could not understand them. I felt a stinging sensation, and I could not move. Lightheadedness spun my mind in a hypnotizing swirl.
Now, here I am. Staring in the bedroom mirror — dried blood adorns my torso, head, and neck. What remains of my clothes remains of my clothing is hanging loosely on my shoulder. My jeans might as well be shorts at this point. My skin is pale and lifeless. My teeth protrude from my mouth. My lips look like someone took a hole puncher to them.
I glance at the stranger, curious about what transpired. I don’t remember what happened to the lifeless stranger. I don’t even remember coming home.
I did something terrible. I can feel it.
Reflected at me is a grotesque beast with a desire to feed, a shapeshifter, a menace, a hellhound sent to earth by the Devil himself.
I don’t think my mirror is lying to me this time. The corpse in the wicker chair tells a harsher truth than my mirror ever could.
No, no no,I am not a bad person. How can I be? I am not even sure I am a person anymore.
Tas The Artist 
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