“The moon is the reflection of your heart and moonlight is the twinkle of your love.” Debasish Mridha
The dream opened with her sigh. She found herself looking into a mirror, seeing her face that somehow wasn't her face. There were her blue eyes, her cupid's bow lips. Her delicate nose with its slight upturned tip, her high cheekbones, a gift from her Native American grandmother, and a gently pointed chin with its shallow cleft. Her long gray streaked light brown hair was held back by a black plastic band. In the mirror she saw each one of her fifty-eight years written in the the lines fanning out from her eyes and the worry lines that appeared across her forehead when her mood became uncertain. All of these features were set into a face rounded by excess that continued downward along her neck and into her upper body. Seeing herself in the reflection before her, she heard once again every taunt and every harsh comment she had ever taken to heart. She felt a lifetime of dejection and rejection. She recalled the loneliness that had been her lot.
But, then, behind her in the mirror appeared another face. A masculine face, attractively sculpted by genetics and years of hard work spent in the sun. Warm brown eyes met hers with tender affection and his innately gentle good humor, while his beautifully sculpted lips curved with pleasure below a proud aquiline nose. As she watched, he raised one hand and ran it lovingly down the length of her hair while with the fingers of his other hand he lifted her chin before flattening his palm and bringing it up, slowly covering then uncovering her face. Now there were no secrets between them, and suddenly she was seeing herself as if throigh his eyes.
Her eyes were still blue, yet there was a sparkle there that hadn't been before. Her features remained the same but her skin had taken on a youthful glow. Her hair shone with health and vibrance. Her sad, down turned mouth lifted in a becoming smile and, somehow, the image of her excessive weight lost its dowdiness. As she watched, he arms went about her as his cheek rested aside hers and, as the image began to fade, she saw his lips move, speaking words that went unheard.
Slowly, she awoke to darkness lit by moonlight coming in through a window opened just enough to allow a breeze to stir the sheers covering it. She became aware of a man's body nestled against her back and a strong arm holding her about her waist. She felt the warmth of his breath upon her neck moments before a gentle kiss was pressed there.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered into her ear, his voice low and caressing as his arm tightened and pulled her closer against him. “You are perfect for me. I love you.”
And she smiled into the night, her eyes glistening with unshed, happy tears as she rested her hand over his and allowed a lifetime of hurtful words to wash away. For now she saw herself anew. She was no different, not really. She had only lost a mask she had been forced to wear. She was seeing herself as she was, unblemished by heartache and prejudice. She was seeing herself through the eyes of love.
This seems to be the conclusion of the story before. But it has its own conclusion, so it can stand alone as flash fiction. There's a lot unsaid in the mirror image that is the dream unfulfilled and the sudden realization that it is. All it takes is an understanding man. And all of the hurt of the past is wiped out in that moment.
Edward Rutherford is prepared to do just about anything to escape an arranged marriage to a woman he despises. But his brilliant plan to feign insanity has some rather unwanted consequences...
An intern architect at Ryan and Associates, Mateo Diaz has spent the last year learning his craft under the tutelage of partner Alex Ryan. Alex is the closest thing to family that Mateo has known since losing his own family years ago. But not even Al
The dream opened with her sigh. She found herself looking into a mirror, seeing her face that somehow wasn't her face. There were her blue eyes, her cupid's bow lips. Her delicate nose with its slight upturned tip, her high cheekbones, a gift from her Native American grandmother, and a gently pointed chin with its shallow cleft. Her long gray streaked light brown hair was held back by a black plastic band. In the mirror she saw each one of her fifty-eight years written in the the lines fanning out from her eyes and the worry lines that appeared across her forehead when her mood became uncertain. All of these features were set into a face rounded by excess that continued downward along her neck and into her upper body. Seeing herself in the reflection before her, she heard once again every taunt and every harsh comment she had ever taken to heart. She felt a lifetime of dejection and rejection. She recalled the loneliness that had been her lot.
