I reached out to touch the mirror and my fingers grasped cold silver, and not the warm tangled brown mess set against pale skin. It was an alien sensation, wanting to touch myself for the first time in years. The self-abhorrence had stretched the grim skin against taut weary bones that were on the verge of breaking apart and splitting my body into a million tiny little fragments. It was like trying to move forward, only I had no road to embark upon any more. I burned those when I engraved my destiny onto my parent's tombstone. There's no her and he any more, and there won't be me any more. Even the mirror refuses to look at me, who will?
Everything was planned right down to the finest of details; my life was laid out like a clean cut map that couldn't be read upside down even if a dreamer tried their hardest. But somewhere along the way the map was passed down into too many hands, and the creases screamed for seclusion only to receive none. I was relentless, and the map couldn't