In The Mirror

Her bedroom walls beg to be acknowledged. The tones portray lifelessness. A color you could only imagine seeing 

at an open casket. Even then, that color fades behind some attempt to bring life back to an empty vessel. Her room is bare and vacant, only holding the simplest of essentials that reveals it's a bedroom at all.

A bed displays a perfectly imprinted formation in which she slept, sheets tightly tucked beneath her mattress as if she could

never remove herself from it's caressing grip. Caressing. She enjoys being smothered by her own sheets, which provide comfort to her. A mirror reflects images of a space she finds solace in, a bed, a dresser, and a small unappealing rug chosen in a dull black color. A color so faded the sun's rays couldn't ever produce such dullness. In her mind this is comfort, it's her safe place.

She runs her fingertips along the walls sometimes, feeling the cool sensation they retain. A lack of insulation within the home perhaps? She never seems to mind. Her fingertips enjoy feeling the frost like effect those walls exude. Almost cool enough to create a below temperature atmosphere. Like walking into a deep freeze, set cool enough to take your breath away yet will allow your heart to beat. It soothes her.

She can never understand why she never has any visitors. But one glance into her darkened haven would turn anyone the other way. Eyes would widen, unsure of which emotion to feel, what to even say. Confusion, sadness, shock, any of which she has never felt within the walls of her bedroom. Even if the room did contain one sign of life, it would be the crimson red soaked so deep, stained within the bedding. Within the imprint, the perfectly sculpted imprint. And this is where she lay and hope to never be removed. It's her favorite place within her room. 

There is one thing however that may sadden her on occasion, or cause some sort of discomfort within her vicinity; she can no longer see herself smile. The mirror will only show the remains of a forgotten murder scene, not the reflection of a lonely ghost trapped within the walls of her misunderstood solitude.

Reviews

[Srchaud]

Wow nice twist at the end.
Once again I love the style of your writings, Its like a cross between poetry and flash fiction. Very creative with your prose. They are elegant and flashy yet never too much to take in(and you know what I mean those sentences that you have read 10 times to understand).
Really fun to read and creative, lets the imagination soar. The use of words to create images is truly talented.
Like walking into a deep freeze, set cool enough to take your breath away yet will allow your heart to beat.