The girl in the mirror stares back at me, like she’s angry. She should be me, only she isn’t. I make funny grimaces to make her smile, but she frowns instead. The girl in the mirror laughs and laughs, then says she misses me. She makes it clear she wants me back.
The girl in the mirror looks down, like she can’t stand me. She’s bright, shiny and happy, like I used to be. She’s pretty and funny and everything I was before, unlike me now, unlike this dark figure that stands across her. She’s had enough, she’s bored with me. She turns into an eagle and flies away. I have no shadow now, no reflection. I ask of her to stay, but it’s too late. Even I have abandoned me.
The girl in the mirror waves from afar, like she doesn’t care. She doesn’t recognize me, like I have unzipped me to come out as somebody else. She says she doesn’t want me like that, while she flies high in the sky, and I can’t know what she means, for the mirror doesn’t work, I can’t see me now, can’t face me, but I’ll be like her again, I’ll grow wings, I’ll be an eagle, somehow we’ll meet and we’ll be one again, and we’ll fly out of this, out of this room, out of sorrow, into the vastness of the world, into the sky.
Mileva Anastasiadou is a neurologist, from Athens, Greece. A Pushcart, Best of the Net and Best Small Fictions nominated writer, her work can be found in many journals, such as Litro, Jellyfish Review, Spelk, Moon Park Review, Okay Donkey, Bending Genres, Open Pen and others.