Shards of Torment

Bitter nausea rises in Sandrine’s throat as the shards of the shattered vanity mirror shoot up from the table and floor in a maelstrom of sharp chaos, pieces binding themselves together in DNA helix fashion, building themselves from inanimate splinters of reflective glass to take on a new, sinister shape, the form of her abusive, late husband.

“Honey, I’m home,” says the mirrored monstrosity in a voice that sounds broken glass edges scraping together.

©2020 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

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