[image error]

“Its blinding.” I break the silence that was hovering like the darkness we’re sitting in.

“What is?” Her dry throat starts to crack as she says the two soft words.

I hold the broken piece I stole from a mirror that was left lurking in the street alone.

“Never mind.” I say softly. She falls asleep by my side. I touch her hair that used to be smoother. Now its edges are dried up, smudged by dirt and dust fumes.

I let go of the broken mirror and sigh. This maddening silence insists on following me. In my head all I hear is fading distant howling wind. There is no hope in there. Only upcoming silence.

I wait for death everyday. Not because of war no. I wait for death everyday because that’s my path. Its my inevitable unchangeable authentic truth. Its not a sad story. Its what I wait for. Its what I want.

She stirs again; my best friend. She coughs; a dry unearthly cough. I hold the shattered mirror and look. A microscope into my world.

I see all. I see everything now. I wonder if God has a similar mirror. I wonder if it shows the same things I see and if it does what’s the point of seeing this. The point. There is no point.

My sister clears her throat and I can feel her headed my way, she makes her self as comfortable as possible on this steely ground we’ve been sitting on for the past six hours.

“You okay?” she asks and checks to feel my face with her hand. We used to do that all the time. When one of us is upset and tries to hide it, the other one touches the skin surrounding her eye to make sure it isn’t wet from tears. There are no tears. There hasn’t been any tears for the past year or so. She must wonder why. When she makes sure I’m fine, she expects me to do the same or even ask her if she’s okay too. But there is no point in asking. I know she’s not okay. I know that this loss is all we have and its not okay.

“I’m fine.” I say as she reaches for my hand but finds no space to place hers. Its already occupied. The broken glass. My world.

“Don’t stare too much at yourself,” she smiles, “Mum used to be all superstitious about that, remember?”

I smile, “Yes surely I remember.”

You don’t forget death do you?

She goes back to her own space and starts singing.

Her low silvery voice fills the entire room and replaces the silence in my mind but soon enough she’s discouraged and goes back to sleep.

I have always envied her power to sleep anywhere. I always envy people for their power to sleep anywhere. Not me. Not here. Its not because of the loud unstoppable ratatatat sound, nor the groaning ear shattering drumbeat of the helicopters. It was the silence in this room underground.

Back when I had a life, I read a lot of poems and I guess now the one line I relate to the most is the one that says, “The silence depressed me, it wasn’t the silence of silence, it was my own silence.”

And so in silence I spent my days, my hours. I hold the mirror up high and look. The light beginning to seep into the room makes it easier now for me to see myself. My eye in particular. The broken piece only shows one bit at a time. But I know all the bits hidden in the unbroken version of itself; a pale face, big brown sharp eyes, smooth shoulder length black hair, and lips.

I’ve always loved lips. Not necessarily mine. But I’ve always loved lips. The lips I kissed when I was younger. The lips I imagined kissing when I got older. The chapped lips that surround me in this room now. A curse those lips. All of them curse me.

The rest of my figure doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. I look again and I see the rest of the world and the rest of the room in my small mirror. I see the tight room that has about 8 people, 5 of which I know and care about. I see the world outside the room with its endless rubble and debris. I see its sooty stained soldiers and the wreckage they’ve made. I see bureaucracy. I see a wind of dust and gray, nothing but gray.  My world out there is black and white and gray.

“You better not try and slit your veins with that piece of glass.” the dry voice speaks again and sits back up slowly. I smile and shake my head.

How would I dare… I won’t have to do it. It’ll do that on its own. I won’t be in control. I won’t be responsible.

I want this to end. The waiting is as agonizing as the silence.

“Look at me.” I tell her and she looks, “I look like shit.”

She shakes her head and insists on convincing me that I look just fine. That’s denial. I was only checking if I’m the only one in denial, guess not.

I pray. I pray my mirror doesn’t break much further. I pray I get to keep it forever; the glimmering beauty, the shiny facade, the surprising element. I pray.

Its been twelve hours now. I’m not scared. I’ve always had an infatuation with struggle and I always will. However, I love my sister and my friend too much to fathom on my fantasies now.

I hear a loud thud outside, and the room stirs. Its closer than ever.

My sister runs my way and I hug her tightly, but I don’t let go of my mirror.

She does the face test one last time, and she finds my eyes watery.

She tightens her hug as we hear an even louder crash.

I strangle my mirror in my grip.