Reflections

A short story about vanity and its effects.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The clock’s annoying ticks and tocks made Adele wake up. Adele opened her eyes and brushed her hair off her face. As se got off the bed, Adele saw her curious shadow copying her lethargic-self. She walked to the loo and took a long luxurious bath using fancy soaps and oils. As she got out of the cooling water, Adele noticed her own reflection in the mirror. She was perfect. Her eyes were big, brown, and had the depth of the most remote oceans that could captivate even the most antisocial businessmen. Her face was perfectly symmetric and her evident cheekbones gave her face elegance and sophistication. She walked to her closet, which could have been the biggest closet in London, containing the most expensive and most beautiful clothing: countless shoes and dresses that valued more than racehorses and blouses and skirts that screamed high fashion. Of course, she was a model, for what else would she be? She was, in fact, the most sought after model in Britain.

After the show, she was tired. It was, indeed, for her, a hard job, to walk back and forth wearing extravagant (and heavy) outfits from the garrulous designers. She was happy, Adele. Or at least she thought she was. Her reflection in her mirror made her happy. Her shiny hair made her happy. The compliments from the designers made her happy. The fame and recognition made her happy. But her shallow thoughts made her shallow-self sink deeper into a luscious depression that she never realized. And no one did since her most insincere smile was the most credible.

She walked to the house of her lover. With each step she took she became more beautiful and more perfect. With each step her ego grew. With each step she took another argument with a family member would occur. With each step her loneliness grew. And with each step she realized that what she was about to do was the right thing. She saw the house of her lover, but today, there, no love would reside. Step by step, Adele approached the house, and saw her handsome man saliently awaiting her in the doorframe. He must have seen her coming. As she went to the door, she saw her own reflection on the house’s window. Beautiful. Perfect. She got to the door. He asked her to come in. She did not. She walked away without a word. She was too pretty for him and always was.

Silently, to work she walked, distracted in her shallow thoughts. And then she saw a bright light come and caught her reflection on the window of the bus. She looked pretty, as she did lying with a rose between her cold fair hands.