Page 70 of Mortala
Snip.
Clank.
Scissors drop into the sink with a metallic clank, landing on chunk after chunk of mix-length locks of hair.In the mirror's reflection, I see my eyes staring back at me, but the woman there is not one I recognize.She's frail, her skin’s gaunt with shadows bruising beneath pale blue eyes, chapped lips, and the tendrils of hatred oozing out of her.
Don't ask me when I turned into this...shell.I don’t remember.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped being Sadie and shifted through a painful metamorphosis.It stripped everything I thought I knew about me, and tossed every piece into a pit.All that remains is a small voice crying in some dark recess of my mind, andthis.
Across the glass, my hand swipes for sharp edges of film someone stuck to it to fuck with me.It’s lying.The woman can’t be me.I’m not in this body.It’s just an illusion built by monsters.
When I don’t find the plastic-like fringe, my chewed nails try next.They’re raw; blood stains the corners where my teeth ripped keratin from the fragile quick last night.The very tips of the finger pads are growing thick with callus now that I’ve gnawed the flesh off the ends.
No, I think that was the night before.Maybe?They wouldn't hurt if they were that old, I think.So, it had to be today, but what’s today?
On the vanity where marble pinches the skin of my knees, I stand so my raw digits dig at the mirror's northern edge.Simple screws and clear plastic mounts keep it attached to the wall, harboring the liar hiding behind it.There's no other explanation—she's back there.Warping the image I see in the glass, fucking with me.I'll get to her one way or another, and when I do, I'll rip her fucking head off.
Heat from the glaring overhead light burns my eyes the longer I’m here.I can feel my skin sizzle and writhe as the seconds pass.To escape, I crouch to the right of the sink and snatch up the scissors—they’ll help me get to her.My fist wraps around the metal shank and finger rings before the closed blades stab into the wall at the mirror’s brim.Boring.Scraping.Gouging plaster out of the way.Just a little further and I'll have it off and can squeeze behind and grab her.
At its sudden jerk, my heart rate shoots through the roof.I’m almost there, a little…bit…more.
Feeling the glass bow, I leave the scissors embedded as I twist to grip the edge of the counter and heave with everything I have.My muscles strain as sweat begins to bead and trickle from my forehead.The harder I pull, the less it moves, as if there’s a force sucking on the backside and it’s pissing me off!
Spinning, fury boils over, yet I come face to face with Kate.Seeing her, inches away from my nose, rips a scream from my abused lips that pounds against my inner skull as it echoes back to me.
My world tilts when I release the scissors and take a swing at Kate, the rapid movement confiscates my balance and knocks me back.Pain shoots up my spine into my neck and head when I hit the floor.To the right, I roll, groan, and raise onto my hands and knees.The insides of my chest revolt, refusing me a breath I so desperately need.
I'm going to kill her, even if I have to cut her out of me—she's going to die.I loathe her, hell, all three of them.They've ruined me, condemned everything, and turned me into untethered outrage.
"Fucking bitch!"
Beep beep beep beep beep.
An ear-shattering screech wails through the bathroom without warning.It grows louder and louder until I feel my eyes bounce inside of their sockets.Involuntarily, my hands slap over my heated ears when my brain jerks away from the noise.I sling side to side, futilely trying to throw the siren out of my head.
Beep beep beep beep beep.
"Stop!"
Please, please world, open and swallow me.
Curling into the fetal position, my head cracks against the cold floor as I cower beneath the air.If I hide here, beneath the gale, I’m safe.It can’t reach me if I stay low.The light, noise, nothing can.I’m flat, an untouchable pancake of flesh.All I have to do is breathe and focus on hiding from the demons.
A loud thump jerks me upward.Wild eyes searching high and low for the intruder.Left, right, behind me—it's the cunt in the mirror.Off my knees and back at the vanity, I fist the scissors and stab the glass two, three, four times.It splinters into the most beautiful array of spiderwebs that arrive at the edges with ire.
Wait, where’d the beeping go?
Why hasn't the glass fallen?
It's glued together I knew it!She's over there, smearing paste on the back to keep it whole.
You've got another thing coming, bitch.
Rearing back to stab it again, the beeping shrieks and rattles the foundation but I pay it no mind.Not when a black pitch wells thick at the fractures.I‘m amazed by the way it boils and pulses as if it’s alive.When it becomes too much to cling to the sharp edges of split glass, it spills over and leaks from the cracks.Down, down, down it goes.A near transparent tail is left in its wake while heading for the counter littered with barely-there glass.
Millions of hair-like legs explode from the fissures.They race in a thousand directions to flee from the harsh light, skittering over every surface before I realize the faint kiss of their tarsi have begun to patter up my bare legs.
Panic worms its way into my body, seizing my muscles with horror when the swarm punctures itsy bitsy teeth into me.Up, up, up they come but I can’t move.I’m bound to where I stand by massive silk manacles boil and pulse along mottled skin then burst.Rancid, puss-marbled fluid bleeds into puddles at my feet.
