Advanced English Folio Piece.

The Looking-Glass by Callum Judge

I show you who you are; you only see who you think you are. And so the blame falls on me; but I’m only doing my job. You’d be surprised how seldom I’m asked, “Who’s the fairest of them all?” because the truth is; no one wants the answer. It haunts you. And so you look, eyes wide open, taking in everything I have to show you. I need not answer any question; no answer I could give will sway you from the opinion you grapple so strongly with yourself to maintain. You think it’s well hidden, but it’s looking you in the face, clear as day.

But you see what you want to hate. When I show your skin, you see a battle-scarred surface. You’re never impressed, but you’ll take what you can get. You do not see your father in your smile or your mother in your eyes. I don’t blame you; everyone likes distractions. Everyone likes a problem. Except me. Over the years I’ve grown tired of people and their personal heartache. I’ve grown tired of their prudish behaviour. Everyone. Everyone except me. Accept me.

Youth has such honest eyes. Gone are the days when you would wave at your best friend reflected in me. You were the lonely little girl in the big world, and now you’ve become the big girl in the lonely little world. I remember in your naivety. You would try to outsmart me, you just didn’t understand. You were lost in the theatre of the mind. In me you saw a world exactly like yours, yet in your mind it was deeply different. How could you be sure I was real? Can they see me? Were you the mirror?

Gone are those days, when at night you saw the shadows of monsters reflected in the moonlight. Yet still I pose a threat. In me now you see the bogeyman. As you age you abandon me, scared of what you’ll see, frightened of what you’ve become. I see you as you walk past, straining not to turn your head, not to acknowledge me. You blame it on vanity while you try to retain your sanity. Ignorance is not bliss.

My friend, I cannot lie to you. Surely we should not have this relationship, where you look at me and unease sets in. You fear me when I show you a pimple or dimple, ruining the image you’ve created in your head. You have embedded this monster inside your own mind. It is a masterpiece. The truth is you don’t need me. For you, self-deprecation has become a hobby. From a distance, I please you. But as you come closer the truth begins to hurt. I only assure you that you’re human.

I have proof; I have watched you grow. From your nights spent crying in your mother’s arms, to the first smile, your first steps to your first year; all have been reflected in me. And I remain loyal, showing you the person responsible for all these memories. And long after you’re gone, I’ll remain. And though I’ll reflect someone else in your absence, I’ll remain, waiting for your figure to return. Yet you do not cherish this gift, and instead squander your time trying to create a new image.

I am meaningless; no more your reflection than the glossy magazines you worship. Each gospel the same; futile and hollow. Each girl the same; skinny and lifeless. Each pose the same; pathetic and useless. That is your chosen mirror; your new reflection. It is no more a scripture than a picture book. I see you sit and stare at these “role” models. I watch as you copy their vapid expressions, each pout and pose adopted in an attempt to hide. They are the modern day sirens, and you are being drawn slowly to your eventual demise. And down you will sink, drowned by self-pity. You’ve changed as you’ve grown. You’ve become a victim of your own creation.

I show you the person I thought I knew, the person who was beautiful as they were. Now each cheek is painted and powdered, each eyelash coated and slicked. I see it run away from you down your cheek in tears, removing the mask you’re so keen to hide yourself behind. It cleanses you. It does not belong on you. And so you weep, confiding in me, a silent witness. I know you wish I would leave, so you wouldn’t have to face your own judgement anymore. Believe in me; believe in you.

You know I cannot. I see in your eyes anger. I see in your face thoughts of hurting me. I’m innocent. Shattering me would only show how you have cracked. A thousand shards of me would scatter around the floor. A thousand more shards of you would scatter to the winds. A thousand of us together, your reflections glistening like diamonds. But you will never see what I see, and my diamonds will turn again to coal. Instead you desert me, and the dust begins to gather. My reflections become more obscure, more distorted, until I no longer reflect. And I sit, forgotten, forever offering my service, however worthless I have become to you. But I am everywhere; in the rivers and streams and glass that gleams. There is no escape.

Do you think I take joy from this? Do you think I relish the discomfort I bring you? I am you. As you cry, I cry. I mouth your screams. Yet I am mute, unable to help, unable to comfort. I remain a spectator, co-operating against my will. Here I try to make a plea, to help you, to save you, but it is lost, and I am refused. I cannot even apologise.

I have never once belittled you, yet I have caused you sorrow. And as you age you see the broken person you’ve become reflected in your eyes. You see your lost youth reflected in your frown. You see the battle within yourself etched into your skin. And you blame me. I’m not a fool. What I show is not all I know.