Reflection

No fourteen year old should have to go through this. As I back slowly into the dark alley I beckon him to follow, shaking with the grotesque horror of what I must do. I have no choice.

Looking over his shoulder constantly he shuffles nervously towards me. Away from the glare of the streetlights he seems to grow a little in confidence. “How much?” he asks licking his lips, his eyes hungrily devouring. “Thirty” I whisper, head down. I take his frantic fumbling at his trousers for assent. I feel sick. I hate myself. What did I ever do that could deserve this? As he edges ever closer I can smell him, the negligent cocktail of sweat, stale cigarettes and urine. But beneath that, deep beneath those surface odours, I can smell IT. The rushing, calling me.

My teeth rip into his soft white throat as my hand holds him up against the wall. My eyes roll back into my head as I drown in his blood. The finest wine coats my tongue, dripping drunkenly from my chin. He struggles only briefly as a fly might against a spider in her web, the end inevitable. Shaking my head from side to side, I tear, bite and rip at his flesh, licking, sucking. My thoughts are no longer my own as I surrender to the moment. The hairs on my body are individually aware, each one alive, thousands upon thousands of microscopic fingers reaching out to grasp the ethereal power that passes between us. Perhaps the wraiths that I see, haunting dealers on street corners have some idea. Watch their rapturous faces as they plunge the liquid ecstasy through their veins. As the blood flows through my body, I see the man as a boy, terrified.

I wait alone in the dark, hoping that he’ll not return.

I must hurry. I use his coat to clean what I can of the mess from my face and hands and run. Through the rain, a fine mist that slowly soaks through my clothes and onto my cold grey skin. Are these God’s tears cleansing me, washing away the sin of what I’ve become? I run ever faster through the empty city, splashing through puddles on and on, pushing to get home in time. It always seems so quiet in these hours before dawn to those that cannot hear. Like the boy and the girl on the corner, arms around shoulders as if on an invisible ship. Laughing and stumbling they don’t see the huddled shapes they pass hidden in doorways, watching them. I can smell the fear and jealously boiling just below the surface of those snarling faces. I can hear their anger; it deafens me as they scream silently after them. The red cloud suffocating me starts to lift and as my humanity returns, I think back to the bundle of rags that I have created. My tears join His.

No! The front door slams and I can hear the steady thump of each foot louder and louder as he climbs the stairs. My father is home.

I kick aside the corrugated sheet that is my door and crash gasping into my room. My chest heaving, I steady myself and stand in front of the full-sized mirror. I stare in wonder and joy. My skin is so alive, pink and smooth. My damply glistening eyes sparkle, my hair although stuck to my forehead dark and lush. I can feel the strength of my arms and legs, the energy bunched within me, waiting to be released. My heart pounds at my innocent beauty. I glow with life.

I sink beneath the quilt hoping that the drink has dulled his craving. I hold my breath as he reaches the top of the stairs. He must be able to hear my heart thumping through the silence of the night. The sourness rises up from deep within me as the door starts to open.

When I was a child, I remember there was a large wooden box in my parents’ room. When I opened that box, I was transported to a different world. It had old dozens of old coats, shirts, trousers, hats and scarves. My imagination would run wild and I’d stand in front of the mirror and pretend to be anyone that I could think of. One day a swashbuckling pirate, the next a spaceman, forever exploring the endless sky. Anything I could imagine I could become. I have come full circle. Now, as then I dress up. I can be anyone I want to be, for a time at least.

I’m older now, I watch them play. Mothers sit in huddles on benches chatting while their eyes scan the horizon like frightened deer. A girl falls from the slide. She starts to cry and her mother lifts her to her shoulder, whispering sweetly as she holds her cheek against that soft white skin. I see boy away from the others oblivious. I rise and…

I can’t remember. As his blood was, so now his soul follows, seeping slowly away.

Within the mirror, I gaze at my soft white skin. Cracks slowly appear at the edges of my lips and snake their way across my face. My eyes deaden and my fingers yellow as the brittle nails start to chip. My hair recedes back across my paper thin skin stretched too tightly across my skull. A phantasmal corpse stares forlornly back at me. An intangible shadow, there yet not, solid yet smoke. “Please,” I whisper, “just a little longer.” Watching myself, I fade slowly away to nothingness, like the scent of a woman on the air as she passes you in the street.

I venture out into the rain once again.