In the Mirror

The lights flickered within the bathroom, the orange rays darkening and lightening my skin. I stood before the sink, head ducked, and arms bent over my head as I attempted to form a French braid. At the top of my neck, my fingers became confused and one slipped, removing a strand and ruining the braid. I dropped my arms and sigh heavily. Third time’s a charm, huh? I unraveled the hair tie from my wrist and tossed it at the counter.

My mother walked into the bathroom, sensing my aggravation. “Would you like some help?” she asked, untwisting the final strands and began a new braid.

“Thank you,” I said, plucking bobby pins from a tiny chest beside me.

In the mirror, I watched my mother piece together my hair. I could only see half of her face, and the side I saw was pale, her lips violet, and her eye sunken it. I didn’t question her sickly appearance and instead handed her two bobby pins, so she could tuck away runaway strands. I thanked her again as she polished the braid and sprayed a very little amount of hairspray onto it.

“You’re welcome,” she said, squeezing my shoulder and heading out the door.

Before it closed, I called out for her. “Why are you here?”

Her hand crawled up the door, her chubby, purple fingers on the inside. “It’s nice to come and visit, I believe.”

I leaned against the sink and closed my eyes. “It hurts me.”

“Do you not want me returning ever again?”

“No, I"” I clenched the sink and inhaled deeply. “I didn’t say that.” I gazed back into the mirror and her chubby fingers had lengthened and obtained jagged claws, black in color. My jaw tensed, and I straightened myself. “I just like the old you.”

“Well...” She dragged her claws along the door, damaging the white paint. “It’s your fault for imagining me this way.” She gripped the side of the door. “I didn’t die with Satan riding upon my back.”

The door was slammed shut, and I jumped.

In the mirror, I saw only myself. And the French braid that wasn’t finished.