The Mirror - Memories

An old man in shabby clothes approaches an abandoned room in his large house while muttering "It has been a long time, it seems just a few days ago. Aging is unstoppable, indeed I feel so tired wearing this mask. I want to see you again"

"Old witch mirror, I will cover you forever with this shitty cloth so you cannot see the world anymore, I hate what you show about me, I won't forgive you till I die". Jack curses endlessly while looking into the mirror with deep hatred.

"Jack...what I can tell you now is, you can find my soul, and bring it back to me. The clue I could give you is before you could find my soul you need to find yours first, find it inside you Jack".
_{@el-nailul - source}

Scattered Jack finds himself back on the floor of the attic.

A bit of light comes through the gaps in the roof panels. He groaned and tried to remember how he had ended up in the last place he liked to be. Underneath the roof he'd stored a few pieces of furniture of the past and next to him was the box. The box he didn't intend to open ever again but had refused to throw away as he was of a younger age, an age he remembered how lonely and abandoned he felt. Disliked, being made a fool of, and backstabbed. Slowly he rolled on his back and stared at the tiny beams of light. He no longer felt angry all that was left was the fear of dying in the attic without his mask. Where was that damned thing? He fell next to him but there was nothing. He panicked, how long ago had it been he had set foot without wearing that damned thing? It all started as a joke. Suddenly a memory of the passed popped up and his mind was back over 40 years ago. It was at that moment he had made a promise, a promise to himself not to give in ever again, not to trust his backstabbers of friends. It was the time he had told himself to be a new person, he could be anyone and nothing could stop him from achieving his dream. His dream.. was to be successful, more successful, better than anyone else. One way or the other, it didn't matter as long as everyone recognized him. What they could do, he could too, and as the day passed by and Jack grew older he jumped out of the damned box he'd been forced in living in for way too long. He wanted to breathe and knew how to achieve this. It all came to looks, the right appearance, and attitude. He worked and lived like a devil wearing designer clothes, always in time for a haircut and with that mask he was unstoppable.

Good times for sure, he thought, what an energy I had. What to do with those old bones and my pockmarked face? What was it again he had promised that damn mirror? Why couldn't it show him anything better, something good out of the past to make him feel good? An addict to his looks had his sister once called him as she had gifted him with that mirror she had named Hermes. Hermes how many times he'd talked with that that damned mirror that he'd had tried so hard to forget after his sister had disappeared. It felt as if she'd been swallowed by the earth as he finally had decided to look for her but every road he took ended in a blind alley.
Better beware Narcissus you aren't Apollo... these were the last words she had spoken to him. All that was left from her he had thrown on the attic with the words out of sight out of mind. The mask had helped him. No, he didn't turn into Zeus but that didn't matter wealth and fame were the goal, and instead of Narcissus he aimed for Prometheus and that mask had helped him all the way up to the highest sport of the ladder. Too busy with gaining he noticed too late that something was foul underneath his skin and for longer he'd ignored the itchy feeling, burning, and bad smell that was hidden by the mask.
Stupid Hermes was no longer needed, he was too busy to have a chat with what only hurt him and he didn't need it to see a picture of someone he didn't recognize. He gagged as he remembered what his face had looked like, a face that couldn't be his. No way, he was that ugly. That mirror was a shitty liar. Again he felt the anger inside like a tornado and he felt his heart ache.
A heart but no soul, he thought. Where, when, and how did that happen?

Slowly he got on his knees, drew to the box. The dusty place made him sneeze and he wiped off the snot with the sleeve of his shabby shirt.

When was the last time you took a bath, why not wear something decent? You are wealthy, aren't you?

Startled he sat on the floor, those words reminded him of his sister. Was he losing his mind, was it a sign of aging, or had his sister hidden in the attic all those years without his knowledge?

Where are you? His face sounded weird as fear started to possess him but no answer came. Slowly he pushed the box in the direction of the door, fearing for that voice. If he got out alive he would nail the door shut and never set foot inside again. He had no idea how long it took him to get the box down the stairs into the place that had once served as the heart of the house. He had the kitchen into his bedroom, living and as he entered it he suddenly felt ashamed about how he had lived in the past years. His sister... the voice was right. Right again, no it was because of her he'd no longer taken care of his looks. He did as he was still at work but as soon... He shook his head in an attempt to shake out the thoughts that filled his mind like a whirlwind. Stupid old idiot, he grumped, you can only blame yourself. It was the first time he'd said that and to be fair it shocked him.

A towel, a piece of soap unopened at least twenty years old, clothes, socks.. it would be quite an undertaking to wash and dress himself. With difficulty, he got the tap turned on. Strange how something that was once so natural now took so much effort. At first, his body ached as he felt how the first stream of water hit his body. Panic overtook him and his reaction was to flee from the shower but he stood there waiting for the pounding pain on his body to stop. The memory did not let him go. With closed eyes he stood, trapped by memories, with closed eyes waiting for it to be over. Sooner or later, it did not matter how long then it would be over, not thinking about anything, not remembering, and especially not praying and begging. Think about the plan, the plan... feelings are not important, only the plan counts.

Resignedly, with his eyes closed, he waited, unaware of the time that had passed, until his body slowly relaxed. In his hand he held the bar of soap under the stream of water. A faint scent of lavender came to him. It was the scent of the island where he and his sister had grown up. He soaped himself up as best he could. It was a tiring task, but the scent of lavender made up for the long effort. His maskless face ached as he smiled at the thought of a long time ago. A life on the island that his sister had said was the realm of the gods. He had hesitated for a moment, but her self-assurance and the divine sense of freedom that the island gave him confirmed that everything she had said was not a fabrication but the truth.
How long had it been since he had visited the island? As he sat on the hot water bottle and tried to put on his socks he searched his memory for the last day before the decision was made to go to the mainland with that the carefree life had ended and the seed had been sown to transform from Narcissus to ......P...
It was the only way to get out of that hellhole and survive, he muttered. His face twisted and he tried to ignore the pain as he walked back to the room where he had spent the past years of his life. For a moment he thought about the mask, how could he go outside and show his true face without the bullying starting again? Tomorrow, tomorrow I will go outside and look for my soul. When I have found my soul then... then the mirror will have its own too.. he carefully felt his cheek with a finger. The appearance had not changed although it seemed as if he smelled less. The soap had probably done a miracle. He sat at the old kitchen table and stared at the stove. Would the thing still work?

Tea time, he heard a voice say distinctly. He looked up in fright. Where did that voice come from? In a cracking voice, he asked: Who is there? There was no answer and when he finally dared to get up he shuffled over to the stove. It was not too late to make a cup of tea. There is no special time when tea can only be drunk. Opening the gas tap, fiddling with the burners of the stove he actually managed to light the burner. With difficulty, he put the old kettle on it and waited until the water boiled. Since when had he become such a wimp?

_{This story is continued The Mirror - A Second Chance by @vwrites}

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6-8-2024
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