This weeks challenge was to write something with the following…
It must include:
A Broken Mirror
The Sentence, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
Here is the link to mine if you want to look around HitRecord. Otherwise my contribution is below.
Bobby woke up in a haze on the floor of his apartment kitchen. Smoke was bellowing out of the oven into the exhaust fan above. The refrigerator door was open and a carton of milk was tipped over with a drying puddle below on the floor and in the puddle was a fake flower with huge petals.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes which stung the more he turned his knuckles into them. His fingers were covered in red paint, as were his jeans and blue shirt. His right ear was ringing and his balance was shaky at best. He stumbled to the entrance of the kitchen and used the wall to hold him up.
The living room couch had scorch marks in the center. It looked like someone had been sitting there and spontaneously combusted or lit aflame. Broken picture frames and art covered the floor beneath the empty walls. A bowling pin was sticking through the television.
A water bottle sat on the coffee table. Bobby stumbled to his knees and grasped at the bottle. He took a huge gulp. The liquid shot out of his mouth as he started clawing at his tongue.
“Fucking gasoline,” he managed while saliva gathered and leaked out of his mouth. He continued coughing as he stood up wobbling around.
He staggered down the hall to relieve himself in the bathroom. Part of the carpet lining the wall had been pulled up and left in a heap.
In the bathroom, the medicine cabinet mirror was gone except the top left corner which had red paint and the word, “It’s,” still scribbled upon it.
Bobby shrugged and began to leak out green liquid. He looked down, almost falling backwards.
“Green’s not good.”
When he finished he fell back out of the door without flushing. In the hall he approached his bedroom door. If he slept, he thought, he could clean up later. He was still unsure what happened the night before.
The bedroom door didn’t budge. He put what energy he had into his shoulder against the door and it slowly moved in. Finally it cracked open enough for him to slide in.
Seconds into the room muffled screams began and on the bed were a man and woman Bobby didn’t recognize. They had dark hair and both of their hands were tied behind their backs and gags shoved in their mouths.
Behind the door was a dead blonde girl, slices all over her body and dried blood on the carpet. Her face was unrecognizable. Bobby fell back from the dead girl and looked at the people on the bed. He tried to shake out the cobwebs and stood. He approached them but they did their best to cower away.
“What’s wrong with you guys? I’m going to untie you.”
He stepped to the other side of the bed to untie the girl first. His hand began to pull at the knot when he caught a glimpse of the mirror across the room. A lightning bolt shape had splintered down the mirror but it held in place.
Bobby squinted at the mirror, red paint sprawled across it, and a pale face looked back. He moved across the room, his eyes having trouble focusing. The face was painted white but had worn some, the nose painted red except the tip had rubbed off and a huge red grin draw over the mouth from ear to ear. Dark black circles under his eyes were smudged down his face.
The red paint on the mirror no longer looked like paint. It was dried and crusty. Bobby blinked trying to focus on the words.
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
The face in the mirror grew grim and smiled at him with sharp darkened teeth. When Bobby moved to look between the shards, it followed him.
Bobby reached to his mouth, the reflection copying him. His teeth were still normal. He touched his nose and the mirror followed. Then the clown in the shattered mirror lifted up his shirt.
His body had bloodless open cuts. In the elastic band of his pants was the handle of a knife. Bobby pulled his shirt up. Scars covered his torso, matching the clown’s wounds.
He slid out the kitchen knife with care and looked at the man and woman.
“The clown said it’s time to finish the job. Really though, you should find comfort in knowing, it’s not you, it’s me.”
Do Something Good