Writing Prompt #3


Write a story from the point of view of a 100 year old mirror.

I am 100 years old today. Quite a long life I’ve lived. The thing is that I can live for hundreds more years. Because I am a mirror. Yes, a mirror. My frame was craved from an old oak tree. The tree itself was ancient and so it was chopped down to be used for other things. My frame included. Parts of the tree were turned into a claw toed cabinet. For many years, we lived together. Me on the wall. The cabinet below me. Holding various items both on the tabletop and in its many drawers.

Then the day came we were separated. Probably forever. Through my glass, I watched as the chest charted away and out the door. Lots of other items went that day. Estate sale was the term I believed I heard.

As for me, I continued to hang on the wall. Forever seeing and reflecting what looked into my glass. I witnessed families coming together and breaking apart. One such break left a mark on my original glass as a man threw his phone toward a woman he was fighting with and she ducked. The phone hit me leaving a crack. I was nearly 90 years at the time. All original glass and frame. Now I was cracked. The man’s phone cracked too. As it tumbled away from me, I saw an identical crack on it’s glass face. The phone was repaired or replaced. I was left to hang with a crack.

100 years. I lost track of how many people peered into my glass. How many people confided their deepest secrets to me knowing I would forever hold those secrets trapped inside my sand blasted surface.

100 years. I witnessed every emotion possible for a species to do. Happiness, sadness, anger, frustration, fear, silliness, vanity, surprise, envy, excitement, pain, regret, embarrassment and everything in between and more.

10 years. I have hung with the crack going diagonally along my top left center down to the left center side.

100 years. My frame has remained intact. My mirror still clear as the plains on a sunny day. I have remained in the same spot I was placed 100 years ago.

100 years. Dozens of families. Hundreds of people have traipsed by my glass. Some look. Some avoid. Some are tempted.

100 years have passed. 100 more will pass and I will remain taking in everything and revealing only what the seer wants to see.

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