vignette 02: mirror

That night, she stood in front of the mirror and held up the photograph next to her face.

At first, nothing happened, and she felt relieved, stifling a laugh at the absurdity of her expectations.

Then the man in the photograph moved.

She fought the urge to run away from the reflection’s motion and stood wide-eyed instead, watching the man’s expression as it turned from frozen passivity to terrifying anger.

His hands sought the edges of the photograph, as if it were a box that framed him.

When he finally managed to touch her face, she moaned his name softly and wept tears of shame.