Mirror God

A gripping exploration of identity, narcissism, and the human condition. A protagonist's descent into self-doubt and vulnerability exposes the cracks in their god complex, revealing a search within.

Mirror God

I look at myself.
No. I stare.
Like I’m trying to summon something from the static behind my eyes.

I look amazing. I know that.
Chiseled jaw, sharp cheekbones, eyes that cut like broken light.
Perfect. Practically divine.

I am divine.
A god trapped in skin.
How dare they doubt me
How dare they look away

Their silence claws at me
They should fall to their knees when I enter the room.
Worship me. Fear me. Love me. Anything but this.
Indifference.

It’s pathetic. All of them.
Their small, dull lives.
Their nervous glances, their fake smiles.
They can’t handle beauty this raw.
It’s not my fault.

Sometimes I wish I could hide.
But how do you hide the sun?

I tell myself I’m perfect. I say it out loud
I’m beautiful. I am. I swear.
Again and again.
Each time quieter.

Why won’t they see it?
Why won’t they say it?

Their eyes don’t light up anymore.
They flinch. Look bored. Laugh behind hands.
I hear them. I always hear them.

Maybe they’re just blind.
Or jealous.

Or maybe...

Maybe I’m not what I think I am.

No.
No no.
No.

I’m flawless. I’m the best. The brightest.
I’m everything.
I have to be...

Don’t I?

Then why do I feel like I’m sinking?
Why do I catch glimpses of myself
moving when I don’t?

There’s a flicker.
Not a reflection...
Something else.
Like seeing yourself in a window.
But the timing’s off.
A half-second too slow.

That version of me.
It smiles when I don’t.
It stares too long.
Eyes wide. Hollow.
Something wearing my skin.

Who am I?

Who the f**k am I?

I press my palms to my face.
Try to feel something real.
But the edges blur.
Like heat haze on asphalt.
Like I’m glitching.

I whisper. Please.
Don’t know what I’m asking for...
A sign. A voice.
Someone to tell me who I am now that the god is gone.

Nothing answers.

Only silence.
And inside that silence.
Something moves.

Small
Golden
Real

A thread.

I reach for it with shaking fingers.
It’s fragile. Like everything I’ve built could snap...
But it doesn’t.
It holds.

And I pull.
Through the noise.
Through the screaming ego.
Through the perfect mask with hairline cracks.

Until I feel warmth.

It’s not godlight.
It’s not power.
It’s something better.
Something human.

I see the world again.
The cracks in people’s voices.
The sadness behind their eyes.
The way imperfection makes them real.

I look inward.
Not for glory.
Not for proof.
Just for something true.

I’m not a god.
I’m not perfect.

But maybe I don’t have to be.

I am something else now.

Alive.
Flawed.
And finally maybe..
Free!