The man in the mirror.

And the man on the other side of the window was shouting himself hoarse, banging the heel of his hand silently against the glass, so very hard. So hard that I could see it shaking… or was that me, shaking? His spittle ran down his side of the transparent cell;  tears fell down mine.

He was like me. But younger, more optimistic. He started to kick at the impenetrable barrier as I hung my head. He knew I’d given up. I could feel him flinging his whole weight against the silvering as I turned and walked away. I turned my back on him, my reflection. His silent screams left my ears ringing. No-one had died, but I covered all the mirrors in the house anyway.

I tell a lie.

Someone had died that day. I had killed off a little part of myself.

I never saw the  same man in the mirror again.

I know it’s not the brightest piece of writing, but this image came to  me this morning and I felt I had to share it… It was one of those moments where, as an artist of sorts, you wonder if you’ve stumbled across something profound. If I look back on this in a few months time, I probably won’t feel the same way about it. But now, in this moment, I feel I’ve if I’ve crossed some imaginary border in my head, and returned with some sparkling jewel.

So, yeah. Critique, enjoy, go out and do something fun and off-the-wall. And perhaps you should listen to your own man, or woman in the mirror. The one you see on sunshiney days, who tells you just how amazing you are. After all… they have a very good point.


The Post Office:


'Quintconsequential' is a word of my own invention, despite the definition in the style of the Oxford English Dictionary featured on the site. By all means, use it, whisper it, shout it from the rooftops. But please, remember that you heard it here first!