A Man in the Glass

It had happened again.

He stumbled to the bathroom. He could hear the soles of his feet drag across the ground. When he crossed the threshold, the cool tile reminded him that his bed had been warm. He paid no mind; it was the devil’s warning. He ran his fingers through his hair. It was unflatteringly wild, and his scalp responded with strange sensations at its displacement. He could smell the burden of the night before heavy on his breath. He stumbled on.

Light poured garishly from the window directly above the sink, on to the alter of good-mornings below. Spanning the entire countertop, the window looked out to the day. It provided the perfect view of the ocean for brushing teeth. Down the hill were a scattering of houses amidst a forest of trees. Then further still, there was a small clump of sand that the locals called a beach, divided informally by a long pier. The sea greeted his eyes as he looked out absently. It sparkled under the same bright, early light as the chrome of his faucet. He forced a sigh from his mind and it burst out his lips in an elongated, lazy “pahhh...”

His heart was tired.

How did he get here, to this side of the glass? He used to be out there. He used to be the laughter you heard on the wind.

Absentmindedly, he reached up from the countertop to touch the warm pane. He had to stretch a bit, it was a long and wide counter. As his arm extended, is body hoisted him on to his tip toes. The rags he wore, with sleeves too short, pulled away to expose his wrists to the un-heated air. His fingertips pierced the beams of sunlight and connected with the window. He closed his eyes. It felt like heaven. He rested like this for a moment, a perfect picture of the devout. His fingers left grease marks.

It wouldn’t be enough, he knew. Nothing would be. But he didn’t care; he had nothing else. He was stuck here, a prison he had built, piece by piece.

He plugged the sink and turned on the tap. His eyes watched the movement of his hand as it went from the glass, to the tap, to the countertop, and his body relaxed. It resigned. His eyes caught a glimpse of a crystal bobble pushed to the side that had been left there eons ago. Dust covered it.

Of course, he had help. There were countless stupid, ignorant people willing to chip in. And the world had always been, beneath its sunny exterior, indifferent to the cause of man.

He hated it. Why did he always do this? Why did he always revert to this? Why wasn’t he stronger? Why wasn’t he braver? Why wasn’t he the man who meant something to himself?

That was enough. He stopped the tap. He lingered, his eyes closing again beneath the crushing weight of his despair. Every moment was a challenge. The water was crisp and cool, he knew. The ideal baptism for a sleepless night. The splash life’s blood across the face refreshed even the most haggard of men. He needed that; it would be enough to keep going. The echo of a last drip ceremoniously reminded him that it was ready.

He bowed his head down to the pristine water. He opened his eyes. He recognized himself.

There it was: the face of a thousand failures. The face of everything he loathed between himself and salvation. Perfect. Seamless. Disgusting. A reflection of his true character – that liquid, insubstantial form. Never firm, never tangible, never real. He could not grip it. He could not hold on to it and cage it; lock it away. He could not tear it from himself. The abyss of his soul.

Everything happened in slow, potent flashes then. He ripped himself from his own gaze in silent loathing. His momentum carried him around in a staggered circle. An angry growl immerged and echoed. His fingers scraped and grabbed. The dusty bobble was thrown. The water was shattered.

And then the colours. Hundreds of shards of fluid mirrors sparkled in mid-flight. The crystal kissed the light in dazzling reds and yellows and purples. A garbled and deformed laughter. All the room in painted perfections.

The cool of the floor on his skin. Escape from the assault above. His hand reached up. The blinds came down.

The room went dark.