Writing Exercise: In the Mirror

[StillStunned]

It's been a while, so here's a new Writing Exercise. Fun fun fun!

This one was inspired by the recent discussions we've had about POV and voice. So the premise is basic: the old cliché of a character standing before a mirror. But let's play around with POV, voice and mood. Try 3P omniscient, for instance, or 2P. Make your narrator sarcastic, or lyrical, or bitter, or oblivious.

The usual rules reply: keep it short (aim for no more than 350 words), and don't write anything that wouldn't make it through Lit's normal publishing process.

 

[StillStunned]

Here's mine:

The man staring back at him wasn’t him. At least not the way he saw himself. It was his face, alright, but it was his father’s body. The slumped shoulders, the swell around the belly – even the clothes. It was all his father.

When did this happen? he wanted to shout. I’ve been looking at this mirror for years. And now suddenly it’s not showing my reflection.

Of course the key was how many years it had been. And he hadn’t really looked at himself. Just enough to comb his hair, and carefully ignore how short the parting was growing. Shave, and pretend that the fragments of stubble in the sink didn’t contain more grey than brown.

And as the years added up, and gravity started to drag at his shoulders and torso, he’d become something of an expert at fixing his eyes on the reflection of his face. His gaze, it seemed, was the only thing he’d managed to keep from drooping.

 

[TheLobster]

about POV

I believe you wanted to link to this thread.

 

[StillStunned]

I believe you wanted to link to this thread.

Yeah, the thread posted while I was still writing. I'd just noticed I'd messed up the link and was trying to fix it.

 

[EmilyMiller]

I look up at the ceiling. The version of me hanging there looks down. Our eyes meet, but most of my body is obscured. Obscured by him. His hairy back. His undulating butt. His face buried in my left armpit, breathing deeply as he holds my arms stretched above my head.

His eyes are closed. His grunts reverberate against my flesh. He ups his tempo, his needs on his mind, not mine. His hands clasp my wrists tighter, as if I was going anywhere. He is heavy and lets his weight pin me down. His urgent thrusting is eased by vaginal lube, I can’t always rely on Mother Nature.

My glance flicks to the wall clock, then back to the woman above me. She looks bored, but he doesn’t seem to mind. At this moment, what I look like, the ennui obvious on my face, is immaterial. He’s close and that’s his only focus.

The grunts became groans and I whisper vague encouragement, wanting this to end soon. The woman in the mirror knows my mind. I wouldn’t be surprised if she winked knowingly at me.

Then he convulses, then goes rigid, then collapses onto me, the bed creaking. His sweat is in my nostrils. His heart is pounding against my chest. Then he rolls. Rolls and puts a forearm to his face, breathing heavily.

I look at the naked body above me, so small next to his, and wonder what we will both do once he is gone.

 

[StillStunned]

The mirror never lies, they say. What you see is what you get. Or perhaps what you’ve got is what you see.

You’ve never understood that. There’s someone in the mirror, but he’s not you. He has the same hair, and it’s grown lankier lately. Like a cat that’s sick, with fur that feels sticky and greasy.

The face and eyes are yours too. Your sunken cheeks, your haunted look. The scar on your forehead, and the one on your lip. You poke at it with your tongue, and the boy in the mirror does the same.

So much the same, but all of it’s wrong. A mockery.

If the mirror never lies, then why does it show you as a boy? Where’s the girl you know you are?

If the mirror doesn’t lie, does that mean you’re the lie?

 

[Erozetta]

James didn't know what to think when he walked into Lynn's bathroom. The mirror over the vanity was large and ornately shaped with a silver frame. It looked like it could be an antique and was at odds with the modern design everywhere else.

If it was an antique, it was worthless. The surface was painted musou black. Small flecks etched out constellations and offered the slightest glimpse of silvered glass beneath. Of course, he only knew they were constellations because the names were painted delicately in a silver script beneath each etching and shades of purple, blue, silver, and pink swirled along the surface of the black paint, separating the constellations in a gentle flow of color.

The reflective areas were enough to see his eye in a few spots, but the rest were mere pinpricks of reflected light on a vast blackness with delicate whirls of color. It was fascinating, but it also made him wonder why.

Crisp black lined Lynn's softly shadowed eyelids, and her lipstick was a dusky pink that looked natural against her light olive complexion.

As James finished, he was stuck on the lack of a functioning mirror for such a beautiful woman. He left her bathroom, curiouser with each step. When he walked over to Lynn, he simply asked, “What's with the black mirror in the bathroom? It's pretty, but macabre feeling."

She shrugged. “I don't like mirrors. What I see reflected is never me.”

“You don't like how you look?”

“I didn't say that.”

James pulled out his phone, opened a mirror app, then held it up. Her gaze caught it. “What do you see?” he asked.

She was quiet and looked into it for a long time before her sorrowful eyes drifted back to her date. “I see black wings behind me. Sharp gray horns twist up and flow back along the top of the head. Long black claws on gnarled hands...”

“You see yourself as a demon?”

Lynn tipped her head to the side, her brow furrowed, her sadness unchanged. “I didn't say it was me.” Then she stepped aside.

 

[NuclearFairy]

I stared into the glassy surface, my lips pulling themselves up into a knowing smirk. My arms moved like a lovingly crafted marionette, combing my fingers through thinning hair. Futilely he tried to fluff it up into a sick semblance of its former glory.

But it didn't work, it never would.

He finger gunned, and pulled our lips through the motions of saying something. I would never know what, it was all silence on this side of the mirror.

Then he was off, on a date perhaps. Through shiny reflections I caught glimpses, of light, and color, of the brightness of life.

Until, it ended, in one last fast spinning burst. A kaleidoscope of colors, that blurred my form, and made my head hurt.

I hated him, I need him. But, all that is left, is my world of silent gray.

 

[dirk2024]

Randy walked through the dusty aisles of the old shop. Bits of paper and other assorted refuse crumpled under his leather boots. While this place was new to him, the interior told a story of many years in service yet received little care. The esoteric nature of the stores façade no doubt kept many potential customers away.

At the end of an aisle, he turned a corner and faced someone who looked familiar yet was not. He took a step closer, as did the person in front of him. That man stared at Randy, as he stared at the stranger. Perhaps he knew Randy from somewhere as well? Was he also trying to place a name with Randy’s face?

They each took two more steps to get closer. Randy looked at a man, similar in height and coloring, yet strikingly more handsome. That body was trim, perhaps even muscular under the tailored clothing. Not at all like Randy, who’d spent his life chasing the masculine ideal, yet never capturing it. Randy’s body bulged where it wasn’t supposed to and didn’t bulge where he wanted it to. Where women wanted it to.

Another step brought each man close enough to touch. Slowly, tentatively, each man mirrored the other as their arms raised with outstretched fingers. However, when their fingers did touch, the first sensation was cold and hard, not warm and soft as he expected. But soon, the hardness went away and Randy found himself pushing into the opposing image. His fingers disappeared, followed by his hand. Oddly enough, he wasn’t afraid. Nor was there fear in the eyes of the familiar man in front of him, who now smiled back and Randy, as if welcoming him home.

A moment later, another customer turned down the aisle Randy had just walked down. All she saw was the sight of another woman, vaguely familiar, staring back at her.

 

[KittyOfSteele]

Good chance and excuse to see if this attempt at a narrator for Red's story works. Wouldn't mind opinions on this quick sketch I just wrote in 15 minutes on my notepad.

---

Red wiped the sweat off of her neck, taking with it the glitter and all the smog of this cursed city in one stroke. Green eyes looked back at her and judged about the new low she's been put after so many years... then again, what's the point on not falling into the abyss when that's all there is in here?

Red's an idiot! There she is, a woman in her fifties, wondering why she returned to a life she abandoned. She didn't even have her jacket on, and that skimpy school uniform felt heavier.

"I need to find her," she said to her own reflection, eyes as bloody as the neon outside. "I need to find her before the Greens get to her first."

She looked into the sink and closed her eyes. 30 years before the game was different. Now, she's by herself. The shadows weighed her down even more, listeners, but maybe, just maybe, she can finally stop running and embrace the darkness. Once a whore, always a whore. I know that. I'm shilling for a vibrator as the night keeps going. It's at 95% of charge, believe it or not. This little thing is a beast!

Back to the stupidest and sexiest redhead in the radio, Red finally looked at herself, no longer feeling like the costume was older than her. Her eyes sparked, her lips stopped trembling. No gun other than the pair of grenades under her chest, she said nothing and turned back to the den while a pair of drunk girls went in to gossip and get high in secret. Who knew a shithole like that had standards like sucking cock is fine, but the moment you place coke on a penis and snort it is too much!

---

E: *in a David Lynch voice* This FUCKING phone autocorrecting the articles now.

 

[anthrodisiac]

I stared at the woman staring back at me. A mask, perky and playful, belying darkness. I could see it in her eyes, the hollow ache, that brief flicker of pain that cracked the facade before false cheer subsumed it. She braced against the sink, allowing herself naught but a shaky exhale before straightening up and rooting through her purse to touch up her lipstick.

I watched her hand shake as she applied the whorish crimson, hoping it would be enough to attract the guy. Every time, thinking it would be enough — sometimes right, sometimes wrong. Sometimes she truly believed it, but it was an instance rarer and rarer with each date, each failed relationship, each broken heart, each drowned sorrow.

She pulled out the brush and combed through wavy platinum locks, eyes searching for any trace of black at the root, a faint smile as she spotted none. As she affixed her earings, fretting between the choice of hoops or faux diamond studs, I felt a pang of pity for her — one rarely felt for this desparate creature. She was so alone, so scared of that loneliness, wishing only to find comfort, to find love. Was that so wrong? I wished I could tell her she was enough, she needed no one else, but I was permitted no words of my own. And I wasn't sure it was true...

Finally, she finished and adjusted her outfit, a slinky black number allowing her breasts to impersonate perkiness. I watched her turn and walk out of the bathroom, the light flickering off, leaving me alone, disembodied, but finally free from her tortured form. Peace, in darkness.

 

[caleb35]

Ecce homo. Behold the man.

See him stand there in his bathroom and look at his reflection in the mirror under the pale yellow light. See him suck in his gut, the gut that he’s had to some extent most of his life. See his once-black hair now increasingly shot through with white, both atop his head and on his face. When the first white hairs started appearing years ago, it initially gave him a distinguished look. But then the white kept increasing and what black hair remained seemed to lose its luster. His beard is white in patches. He tells himself each morning he really should shave it and be done but he’s never gotten into that habit.

See him hold the phone up in one hand and stand straighter. See him try to smile and fail. He’s not good at forcing a smile and his lips tend to droop down naturally. He tries again; good enough. Now he fumbles with pushing the button on the phone while still holding it out to the side.

There. Picture taken. He views it and instantly hates it. Delete. Try again. Delete that one too. Third time’s the charm, they say. They’re wrong. It’s the fourth take that he keeps. Not that he likes it, it’s just that it’s marginally better than the others and he doesn’t want to do this all day. He barely wants to do it at all. He uploads the picture to his profile and then it's a matter of waiting.

He should stop doing this, he knows. He’s getting too old for this, too old for hooking up through online profiles and chatting, knows that he should delete the app. But he doesn’t because really there’s only so many ways to fill the day.

See him look at himself again in the mirror. See him suck in his gut and then let it go. See him smile and hate the fake visage that looks back at him. See him appraise himself there, in the mirror, and take in every inch of the aging body that once was young.

Ecce homo.

 

[anthrodisiac]

I glared at the intruder. A ragged beast if ever there was one. But something was wrong about it. No smell. Strange shape. It stalked my movements. A head tilt. Sneering. Eyes baleful, full of hate. A dark and terrible creature, indeed.

I was the protector of this home. Those within counted on me to shield them from hard, and I was never one to back down from a challenge. I feigned a lunge at the creature. It lunged, then shrank back. A coward, then! And yet, a coward who would not retreat. So be it, I would make him run, the cur!

Backing up, I charged. It sprinted at me, fangs bared. I leapt. It leapt.

THUD!

I collapsed to the ground, shook my head. The other dog lay on its side, chest heaving. Unsteadily, I got to my paws. As did the intruder, but it looked dazed, wounded — as was I, but I would not let it know. I trotted from the room, and, with a quick glance back, breathed a sigh of relief as the coward fled.

Let that be a lesson to you, knave!

I'd defeated my fifth intruder of the day, and the night was still young. All had been to a draw, but I'd get the next one.

Oh, yes, Max would get the next one, all right...

 

[Statius]

From a Prologue of a WIP, just a snippet.

Straight to the bathroom, she almost ran; turning on the water, shutting the door; she needed a minute, a moment alone. Splashing cold water on her face, leaning over the sink she looked in the mirror.

Her long thick black hair was a mess; tangled and disheveled, hanging in front of her face, the stress of the night making her sweat, long strands stuck to her forehead and cheeks which instead of the light brown of her natural tone were pale, almost white. Her eyes were wide, red, and watery, filled with the tears she had been fighting against all night; her mascara running and smeared. Instinctively she wiped them with her hands and made it worse.

 

[anthrodisiac]

I strutted into the kitchen. My pets were sitting on the sofa, silly flat faces slack as they stared at the weird lights. The sun had set, and I was growing restless. And hungry. Tail held high, I glanced over to my right and-

HOLY FUCK!

My fur floofed, tail puffed. I arched my back. Bigger, be bigger! No, BIGGER!

The fiend to my right was doing the same, mocking me. I would not be mocked, damn her! Still sideways, I scuttled forward. This abomination dared threaten my house. I think I'd rid myself of this pathetic scamp last night, after I'd given her a sound trouncing. But here she was, back for more.

So be it.

I shuffled forward and leapt. She jumped. Our paws met perfectly, and we recoiled off each other. I landed on my feet, and, with begruging respect, the other cat landed on hers as well. She was always a worthy opponent, but I was Queen, and could not be vanquished.

I leapt again. My paws bounced off her cold, flat ones. We landed again, sizing each other up. I hissed, she opened her mouth but made no sound. Pathetic worm.

We danced for several minutes, neither able to best the other. My muscles ached, but I dared not show weakness.

"Mrs. Wigglesworth, what are you doing?"

One of my pets, the one with strange chest bumps, picked me up. I glanced down, and the cat was gone. Hah, afraid of a silly human? To think she was such a frightened child who-

"Silly kitty," lumpy pet chuckled, and scratched behind my ears.

Mmm... scritches... Good human...

*purr*

 

[ADirtyPerv]

I sighed happily as I looked into the first mirror I'd seen in months. Finally rescued, and I still looked amazing. Better than ever. My jawline looked chiseled.

I must say, being stranded for months on a desert island had done me some good. The calm waters of my island grotto didn't do a good job of reflecting the truth -- my tan was gorgeous, I had lost every ounce of excess weight, and the makeshift floss I'd crafted from plant fibers had kept my teeth looking bright and beautiful. Even my suit was looking sharp, thanks to the otter I'd killed for sinews.

Repairing the suit took some doing, but I figured it out. Between that and making my own coconut oil for moisturizer and beard oil, my time had been put to very good use.

Thankfully, I'd crashed with a crate of Huel. No need to eat the disgusting otter meat.

I'd even kept up my exercise routine! My personal trainer would be so proud. I smiled into the mirror, feeling the deepest sense of satisfaction. It had been like a vacation, and I had long deserved one of those.

Later, as the cameras flashed during the press conference, my followers falling at my feet as was appropriate, I planned out my world tour to tell my story. I'd just need to make sure there was always a mirror nearby.

Never again would I be without a mirror, to confirm my perfection. That had been the worst!

 

[EmilyMiller]

I strutted into the kitchen. My pets were sitting on the sofa, silly flat faces slack as they stared at the weird lights. The sun had set, and I was growing restless. And hungry. Tail held high, I glanced over to my right and-

HOLY FUCK!

My fur floofed, tail puffed. I arched my back. Bigger, be bigger! No, BIGGER!

The fiend to my right was doing the same, mocking me. I would not be mocked, damn her! Still sideways, I scuttled forward. This abomination dared threaten my house. I think I'd rid myself of this pathetic scamp last night, after I'd given her a sound trouncing. But here she was, back for more.

So be it.

I shuffled forward and leapt. She jumped. Our paws met perfectly, and we recoiled off each other. I landed on my feet, and, with begruging respect, the other cat landed on hers as well. She was always a worthy opponent, but I was Queen, and could not be vanquished.

I leapt again. My paws bounced off her cold, flat ones. We landed again, sizing each other up. I hissed, she opened her mouth but made no sound. Pathetic worm.

We danced for several minutes, neither able to best the other. My muscles ached, but I dared not show weakness.

"Mrs. Wigglesworth, what are you doing?"

One of my pets, the one with strange chest bumps, picked me up. I glanced down, and the cat was gone. Hah, afraid of a silly human? To think she was such a frightened child who-

"Silly kitty," lumpy pet chuckled, and scratched behind my ears.

Mmm... scritches... Good human...

*purr*

You give good cat

 

[StillStunned]

Kelly loved her mirror. It was as tall as she was, and she could angle it up or down in its gilded frame. It had been a present from her mother, after the divorce of course. You’re almost a woman now, her mother had said. A woman needs a good mirror.

But what Kelly loved most about her mirror was what it showed her. It showed her, of course, and her room and all her things. It showed her clothes, even the ones she only ever wore one time, right there in front of the mirror, and then left in crumpled balls for the maid to find.

It showed her beauty, and her confidence, and how graceful and sexy she was as she danced and sang along to her favourite songs. Every morning it reminded her again of who she was, and every evening before bed it shared her success at yet another day of being Kelly. It was her best friend.

Meg had a mirror too. It hung over the bathroom sink, and she hated it. Hated the grime that seemed embedded in the glass, hated the face she saw reflected back, hated the fucking bathroom in the fucking house, with all the fucking people and noise and worry.

Mirrors are things of magic. In a way they’re like stories: what you see depends on who you are and how you feel. How would Kelly feel about Meg’s mirror, and Meg about Kelly’s, if one day they saw each other’s face looking back at them?

 

[Statius]

From a Prologue of a WIP, just a snippet.

Straight to the bathroom, she almost ran; turning on the water, shutting the door; she needed a minute, a moment alone. Splashing cold water on her face, leaning over the sink she looked in the mirror.

Her long thick black hair was a mess; tangled and disheveled, hanging in front of her face, the stress of the night making her sweat, long strands stuck to her forehead and cheeks which instead of the light brown of her natural tone were pale, almost white. Her eyes were wide, red, and watery, filled with the tears she had been fighting against all night; her mascara running and smeared. Instinctively she wiped them with her hands and made it worse.

I'm not sure if this is actually what was intended by the exercise, the above is rather lacking on details for a mirror sequence, but the Prologue I took this from is rather stark on details and imagery. The goal of the prologue (3.7k) is to get the reader to feel, it's about emotional impact of a situation, which this is really just the beginning of that aftermath. The lack of details fits the rest of the narrative and to dive into physical details would have ruined the flow; I've come to realize that info dumping is rather nefarious and comes in many forms, not just a paragraph at the beginning of a story giving a physical description.

 

[StillStunned]

I'm not sure if this is actually what was intended by the exercise,

The rules of the Writing Exercises are very relaxed.

 

[EmilyMiller]

Full-length Mirror​

I am standing. I’m naked. Looking at my body, eyes traversing slight curves. If I’m honest, seeking imperfections. Then his larger shape appears behind me. Familiar arms enfold me, crossing my chest, squeezing. Letting me know I’m loved, that I am his.

I see my encaged ribs begin to rise and fall more noticeably. Does my skin seem flushed? It feels flushed. The warmth of his body mixes with my own increasing heat.

I see myself raise my arms, reach back and caress his face. Then his lips are on my neck and I gasp. The onrush of feelings his lips engender never gets stale. His arms also move, cupping me. Applying pressure, fingers and thumbs finding each stiffening nipple. Making a virtue of my deficiencies, pouring sweet balm my manifest mammary insecurities. Teeth now gently pinch my inflamed flesh. My nerves thrill.

And, as his palms glide lower, stroking my abdomen, another stiffening is now more than evident. I sigh as his fingers reach between my legs. And I breathe, “Please.”

Height differences are a problem, but a puzzle that we jointly solved years ago. Me on tiptoes, my stomach muscles taut, his knees bent, I incline my torso slightly, supported by his arms. Long experience yields perfect alignment, and my body has prepared itself. I moan as he parts my lubricated lips. The eyes of the woman in the mirror widen, the blush of her skin is now no longer imagined.

“Full-length,” I whisper, taking hold of either side of the frame. “I want full-length.”

And his inward thrust lifts me off my feet and into an elevated realm of sensuality.

 

[SimonDoom]

"What a handsome man."

The words leave my lips almost involuntarily as I stare into the bathroom mirror, razor in hand. I've finished shaving my chest perfectly smooth. It would be a shame, after all, not to let women enjoy the sculpture of my pecs.

I stare into the mirror for a few minutes, turning this way and that, enjoying what I see.

The women will enjoy it too, I am sure, when I post the photos on the dating app. How can they not?

Curiously, I haven't had a date in a while, but I'm sure that's because my photo skills haven't been quite up to the task of capturing my masculine allure.

I put the razor down and pick up my phone. I'm sure these photos will do the trick.

Here I come, ladies.

 

[Soixenta]

“Alright, next section,” I said. “‘Describe your appearance in your own words.’”

The mattress shifted beneath me as Sam jumped up and went to stand before the mirror. Her old pink laptop bounced and almost toppled backwards, but I caught it in time.

“Why?” she asked. “I’ve already uploaded all those pictures of me. Isn’t that enough? This feels like a lot of hard work just for a dating profile.” She didn’t move away from the mirror, though, nor stop looking herself up and down.

Not that Sam ever needed much encouragement to talk about herself. Or to admire her appearance. When all the response she got was a shrug from my reflection behind her, she gave an exaggerated sigh and began.

“I am a little over medium height, with a good figure and long curly brown hair. My boobs are well-developed,” and here she cupped them with her hands through her T-shirt, turning to admire the side view, “and my bottom is round and firm.” She hopped up and down twice as if to prove it.

I typed along as she spoke. It was all very true.

“I have large green eyes, and pronounced eyebrows. I have a tiny mole on my right cheek and full red lips. My best friend Petra would say they were made for sucking cock.”

I looked up in surprise and caught her grinning at me in the mirror. “I’ll put that in,” I threatened.

“Go ahead,” she replied. “I bet you’ve already changed my description to ‘Skinny, with big boobs and arse.’” Her reflection’s gaze fixed on mine and held it. “Because my best friend doesn’t want me to find love, just sex. Because she gets off on my hook-ups.”

I saw a blush creep onto the cheeks of my reflection, and stared back. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. I could do nothing but hope that she didn’t continue. That she didn’t ask why.

 

[StillStunned]

There's a bit in a song called "The Sound of North America" by The Beautiful South that a lot of these snippets remind me of:

"A crippled Mohammad Ali looked at bad luck in the mirror
Bad luck looked back at him and sighed"

 

[AStrangeDesire]

God damn man, you look tired.

Look at those bags under your eyes, rough night, huh? What was it this time? Rubbing your hands over your face won't make up for the lack of sleep, will it? Nope, didn't think so.

Yeah, look at that beard, lots of grey now. Slowly but surely, it's taking over. Hey, at least you still got your hair. Even if it is getting a bit thin.

Still, I haven't seen you look so serious for a long time. Of course, I only catch glimpses when you look back at yourself. Which, come to think of it, you haven't done for a long time. Not like this. Not since that hottie who used to be here in the bathroom with you stopped showing up.

Wonder what happened to her, she looked pretty rough the last few times she stood there.

Wait, who's this? God damn man! No wonder you look tired, she looks like she's just out of high school. You dirty dawg, you finally got some!

Wonder what you did with her... You know, you should really get a mirror in the bedroom if you're going to spend time with someone like this. I sure would appreciate it.

Oh, that little kiss on the cheek. And already naked and heading into the shower. Sure wish I could see in there.

You know, she does look a lot that that woman who used to stand there with you. But you wouldn't, would you?

Never mind, there you go. Have fun in there with her, and for crying out loud, pace yourself!

And think about adding a mirror in the bedroom...