house of mirrors.


“Ma, do you hear something?”


He heard it: a low mumbling that rattled the walls.

He hated it: the crushing fear that resided in him, and him only.


No one believed him. They deemed him crazy, a lunatic, pretending their harsh whispers couldn’t be heard. Oh, he always heard what they had to say. He heard them in the walls at night.


“You can’t live like this forever.” His mother would look at him, pleading for him to finally understand. He could never meet her eyes.


To understand what, mother? That he’s a filthy liar in everyone’s eyes, making up the voices that haunt him at night?


“L-Look at me!” His mother desperately cupped his face, “Can’t you understand, son? The voices aren’t real. There’s a life beyond the walls. Stop.. please..”


He pushed her hands away, determined and unwilling to see the heartbreak on his mother’s face. She was a liar, related to the world that could never see past their own delusions. The voices spoke to him; and, they gave him a sense of regard that his mother failed to bring.


He hated his mother, the voices told him so.


“The voices don’t lie.” He murmured, ever so softly, “They always speak the truth. Aren’t you a liar, ma? Haven’t you lied to me my whole life, ma?”


His mother clung against the wall, too horrified to speak. Why was his mother scared? The voices hummed in agreement, pulsing against the hands that held their source of power.


“Why do you never answer me?” He screamed, “Why do you pretend to care? Am I nothing to you?”


Her nails were bloody, scraping against the chipped paint of the walls. She stared at him with only one emotion: fear.


“I’ve always cared about you, son..”


“That’s not what the voices told me.”


“The voices-” She laughed maniacally, “The voices mean nothing. It’s all in your head. I’ve lived with you my whole life, and not once did I hear some stupid, demonic voice in the walls.”


She’s lying.


“You’re crazy! I didn’t want to believe it, but I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t stand you, anymore.”


Don’t believe a thing she says.


“Is this your plan? You want me to hear what’s in the walls? I wanted my son back. I stuck for years, listening to you talk to yourself behind closed doors, all to realize that I can’t change the insane. You’re not my son.”


Kill her.


The walls were perfectly white; and, he painted them splashes of red. The voices rung inside of his head, filling him to the brim with acts to kill, kill, kill. He screamed in agony. His mother lied against the wall, silent.


Give her to us.


He knew what he had to do.


With bloody knuckles, he crashed down the walls of his stability and ruin. A hole in the wall, a hole in his heart, he held his mother close to him once more. He let one, single tear slip out.


His mother was no longer his to keep.


Give her to us.


His mother rested inside the walls, still unable to hear the whispering voices. He only wanted her to understand. As in the walls, he only saw his bloody reflection staring back at him.


It was a house of mirrors, after all, and he could only watch as his mother bled.

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2 thoughts on “house of mirrors.

  1. Dear Cindy,

    This piece was one of the best free choices I have read this year. The story was being painted in my mind, the imagery was perfect. The plot itself, though short, was also very concise and intriguing.

    It took some time for me to find some advice for you. All I could think of was that you could make the ending a little longer and not as sudden. The intro was based on what society thought about him, what his mother thought about him; yet, the resolution, in my opinion, was a little rushed. Other than that, this short story was extraordinary.
    I can’t wait to read your next story!


    1. Unas,

      Thank you for reading my story! I will admit that I did rush this piece in the slightest, but I’m happy that you enjoyed reading it. In the future, I definitely plan on improving this story to a better standard. It is quite short, so I’ll try to make it longer. Thanks once again!


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