The Monologue Of An Old Mirror.

A mirror.

Just below in the next block is a link to the whole post being read. Turn up the volume and play πŸ”Š

Tap here to listen to me reading this.

Here she is! That’s right … Drag your fingers through your hair that’ll work; NOT. When will you learn? Four hours is not enough sleep to fix this! Good lord don’t put that back in your mouth.” If only you could hear me.” you need a tongue scraper for that. Really! water on your finger, that will not clean your teeth and breathing on your hand can not come close to letting you sniff the stench of overnight breath. Uhoh, she has slumped on the side of the bathtub now that is not a good sign.. What’s that … water pooling in her lower lids > sigh < No no no, not today please. I am all for the occasional blubber, a silent weep to clear the emotions, but when you bury your face in your palms and silently shudder … That clouds me, makes me feel unhappy the whole day.

Photo by Alex Green on

Today is her special day, I often like to reminisce. When there were lots of smiling faces popping in an out, music bouncing from room to room trickling up the stairs. It made me dream of being on the other side; joining in. People wearing flowers and rainbows winking and pouting straight at me. Then came the dabbing on rituals, bits of colour from little pots, the sprays of delicate fragrance, secreted in minuscule purses on golden chains > sigh < You my lady were bouncy and twirly, your eyes reflected the light. You shared your sparkles with everyone who came near you; it made my day.

Courtesy of pixels

Where is she, that glorious woman? She is in there somewhere I know. Ahh, that old trick, steaming me up with the shower. I will have you know … it blurs the look in, but not the look out. No wonder you cry so, look how hard you scrub; it must hurt. That heat can not be good for you. Your skin is raw from the bristles of the body-brush; are you hoping to melt, or dissolve, why do I torture myself with pointless questions, I will never know or be told the answers to. Thank goodness a warm fluffy towel and soothing lotion. You will feel better in no time. Come closer, just a bit nearer > sniffs < Ahh! that is delicious, that’s right keep on, gently smooth it in.

My lady, come back … let me see the flowers and rainbows … please. She won’t, she never does. Maybe, just maybe one morning she will. She will look into herself through me and see what others see.

Please let me know what you thought of this, what do you think your mirror would say? I can’t wait to read and reply to your comments.

20 thoughts on “The Monologue Of An Old Mirror.

  1. Thanks for that, Ellen. Jolly good! A little secret: I have two bathrooms. hence two bathroom mirrors. If I want to appease my vanity, I use the main bathroom (no windows) I smlle in the Mirror – SHE SMILES back,It can’t be me? Ten years have been magically removed. Oh, sorceress… This morning my husband beat me to it. The en suite mirror had to suffice with its small window and there’s the real truth staring at me. I nearly went back to bed! xx

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Congratulations Ellen, you are our featured blogger in the Thursday 4T’s You should receive the email on this today, Thursday, August 19.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I see an older and hopefully wiser version of me in the mirror, yes I am grey (or rather totally white hair) BUT it’s still me as my late mom told me that as a baby and toddler I also had white hair, so going full circle.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Hi Ellen I really enjoyed reading this it is just perfect. I love the way on the surface you are following this woman’s start to the day but as we read on you are going deeper and deeper in to her life.
    My mirror might say get a grip girl the day won’t sort itself! πŸ’œ

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I am toying with a novella in flash, 30 stories from different times, from behind different mirrors. If I do I won’t be narrating them all, as my voice recorder does not play on paper πŸ˜‰


  5. You made me cry. This is very close to home.
    Unhappiness is almost like drugs. You keep going to that place cos it’s kinda comfy. It’s a way of self punishment. If you hurt hard enough for some absurd reason. You’ve made it through another day.
    Not fixed, not better. Just another secret day.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. People read different things into stories when they read, as they do when they write. There are pieces of everyone’s story somewhere. Xxx Thank you for commenting today.


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