Fragmented

"I've seen many things over the course of my ill-fated and wasted 32 years. I've done some things I shouldn't have. Made some questionable choices. Nothing stays constant. Well, save one set of strange occurrences. I have these dreams. There's always a woman in them. They began in her early years. I never glimpsed her face then, never probably will."

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1. Broken Glass

I've seen many things over the course of my ill-fated and wasted 32 years. I've done some things I shouldn't have. Made some questionable choices. Nothing stays constant. Well, save one set of strange occurrences.

I have these dreams.

There's always a woman in them. They began in her early years. I never glimpsed her face then, never probably will.

I watched this woman, as she grew up, have a life of self-destruction. Last year, she was coming home every evening, completely drunk. I watched her make these terrible decisions. She smoked to get rid of the pain in her life.

Obviously, I wish I could provide some aid to her. It's terrible, watching a woman destroy herself after I've seen her in her years of joyful and careless youth. But I can't. It's only a dream anyways. Sometimes I have to remind myself of that; that she isn't a real person.

Lately, I've been noticing something. The woman seems to be aging more and more each day. But also, as she hasn't been able to get up and do things, I've had the chance to scope her room as she's resting. 

There's a mirror on her wall.

It's completely polished, but it has cracks in it, yet it's circularly rimmed with an ornate design. And each evening, after the day's --lovely-- events, she gazes at her reflection in it. I see her shoulders drop, an appearance of dissatisfaction, from my whereabouts up above. And each evening, I see that the glass breaks a little more.

Tonight, the woman hasn't come home yet, but I see that the glass is almost to the point of shattering. It's a curious thing. I haven't thought much about why it actually does that. 

The woman hobbles in the front door. The skin on her arms and legs is wrinkled, sagging with age. Her feet skid across the floor as she makes it over to the mirror, a cane in one hand, thumping on the wooden planks. She stations herself in front of the mirror, and instantaneously, I find myself.. in the mirror? Never mind that. It's only a dream, after all.

But when I raise my head up, yes, I see the fragmented glass, but what I also see is a sight that I'll never be able to eradicate from my memory.

I see her face.

The glass shatters.

I try to wake up, to get out of this dream.

When I open my eyes, I don't wake up.

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