"I cannot see myself. The mirror is blackened and dark, my
vision clouded and
blurred.
Sure, I could clean the
mirror. I could rub my eyes, and maybe the soot would wash out.
Maybe I would be able to see
myself. But...why would I
want to? Why would I want to see
the man I have become? The
bored, stoic expression on my face. The rigidity of my posture,
indicating stress and nervousness. The white-knuckled grip of
my fists, clenched tightly
so as
keep the rage at bay. The dull, life-less eyes staring back. Those
damned eyes. I hate
them.
Once I see them, I won't be able to unsee them. I'd have to remove them, and still,
I'd see them.
So no, I will not clean the
mirror. I will not rub the
soot from my eyes. I cannot see myself. It is
better
that way."