The old antique vanity and mirror was handed down from generation to generation, from mother to daughter, along with the legacy of its madness; the heavy burden carried by all the Burton women, the haunting image within the glass, the reflection of innocence lost when the mind fractures beneath the weight of HER judgment...
We see what we want to see in the mirror, but when the mirror looks back at us, what does it see?
M Teresa Clayton is a prolific poet specializing in mystic verse. Two books of verse, And the Snow Falls & Mystic Verses, have created a following of devout readers. Ms. Clayton has also written a children’s book of verse The Garden of Secret Wishes and has published her first book of short stories in the fantasy/fiction genre aptly named Storyteller.
But her latest work JUDITH is by far the most impressive! A novella that quickly catches your attention and carries you into the depths of your own reflection within that looking-glass. She is macabre, haunting, and brilliantly adept at making her stories your own. You’ll never look at a mirror the same way – hell, you’ll never look into a mirror the same way!
M Teresa Clayton is a writer to watch and remember.
-William S. Avery
Blessed sleep… safe, behind a wall of dreams where her voice speaks to me in lullabies. Yes, that is where I go when the memories begin that incessant pounding at the door as if I would ever invite them in; as if I’d ever share coffee and crumb cakes with them. Nor will I chat lady-like with my hands folded in my lap, comparing notes with white-coats in order for them to dissect me and judge my sanity.
I’m never far enough from the stench of reality. It paces back and forth in the room waiting for me to show some sign of cognizance. I won’t give in.
There always seems to be someone in the room with me at all times. I can taste their sour rancid breathing every time they let go of a deep sigh from the boredom that seems to keep them company as they make notations on their little charts, attached to metal clipboards. I can almost make out the words as they are written down… like reading lips, only I’ve become very keen to the sound of the word ‘catatonic’ as it is scribbled upon the page.
Catatonic… a word that does no justice for the peace it provides when I am able to remain safely inside of my own psychosis. Oh yes, I have become an expert on the medical terms they use to mask their communication, as if I either cannot hear or would not understand.