Demon in the Mirror | Teen Ink

Demon in the Mirror

February 26, 2010
By Caley SILVER, Newton, New Jersey
Caley SILVER, Newton, New Jersey
5 articles 2 photos 6 comments

It is times like these that darken the sun and shade the clouds; it’s times like these that my eyes betray me and the demon in the mirror appears. When my façade degrades and the emptiness inside leaks out, hope becomes an ephemeral taste on the tongue. This is when my fanatical dissection begins; I first look to the long and grayed faces above me; creases fold their flesh, an itinerary of pristine grief, and I find my hands trembling with the wonder that these same aches could lurk between the events of my thoughtfully and hopefully mapped life. My eyes then drop to the shining expressions surrounding me, some glittering with unscathed naivety and others smoldering in premature grayness; they are nonetheless alien and distant. With no comfort yet discovered, I seek it in the small and rounded faces of youth. Cheeks rosy with burning excitement, smiles wide with joy; I find they too strike a deep chord of sorrow; I am too paralyzed to interact with them, for fear that the infectious scourge of grief pulsates, uniquely, through my veins, that I might somehow taint this childhood purity should a word roll from my tongue and into their ears. With no further excuse, I turn to the most familiar face of all: the demon in the mirror; I imagine the peach flesh peel away, the red lips drain of color. There can be no vibrancy here, in this place of anguish. No lover’s lips, no mother’s soft caress are to alight here, as this is the nest I have chosen for the blame. In my calcified and shattered heart, I know that I find it easier to horde the responsibility lest I impress one further line in the faces of grey or taint the untainted by sharing it. But somewhere in a deep chamber of that same heart is a well of words for all of those faces, pleads to soothe this acquired guilt that isn’t mine.

The author's comments:
I've had quite a number of personal issues lately, and it's really rather difficult to get through a day without some measure of guilt when your family is disintigrating around you. I was reading Hawthorne in school at the time that I wrote this, and I loved his writing style. I gues I tried to imitate it some. Not so sure if it was a success, it's tough to come close to such a master- but it was certainly an attempt. I hope this article speaks to you in some positive way, if not, i'd love to hear critiques either way! Thanks for your time!

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