Sometimes mirrors reflect images quite inaccurately, sometimes they don't.
Reflections
He sat at the opposite side of the table, confident, legs leisurely crossed, while wisps of smoke coiled upward from the Marlboro filter loosely held between his fingers. Glancing at me, wearing a slick taylor made suit, not even trying to cloak his contempt for the lowlife he obviously considered me to be. His eyes told the story that his mortifying lips hid underneath a subtle curl. Bored basically, he abruptly punched the air before him to unveil his Cartier watch from under his sleeve. It seemed time to go. He finished his JD on the rocks, got up and walked away. I stole alongside the spotlessly polished black marble walls, perfectly in sync with each of his effortless moves. We headed toward the exit of the lounge where the night impatiently waited for us.
I know how the lowlife felt. Yet he is the wise one, one who cares not what mortals think, but is out to accomplished the mission that he was sent here to do, be it hunting down poison snakes or other poisonous things...
Judy Meeker
I read this as a flash parable concerning the rarely acknowledged shadow of contempt that human beings so often hold for themselves and others. We reflect such contempt and it, somewhat frightfully I would say, reflects us in many strange and startling ways, as in this powerful piece.
Aberjhani
Grab those side-irons, saddle up and join former Civil War sharpshooter Luther Henry for a ride into pure terror, western-style…think ‘Wild Wild West’ meets ‘The X-Files’.
