Mirrors

No matter how many times he tried to, he couldn't turn away from the mirror. He was hypnotized by the image of his reflection.

Some could say that his admiration was excessive, but they would be wrong. On the contrary, his reflection caused him fear but it was exactly this that impeded him from moving. That icy smile that reminded him of the ghosts of the past, and that incessant, terrifying laugh of that he knew that no one else could hear. He closed his eyes and it was still there. The mirror and its reflection. Sick of everything, he blew on the glass and broke it into a thousand pieces. His knuckles started to bleed and to turn purple, but he didn't mind about that. With every blow he gave, the laughs became more and more maniac, and he got angrier. 

Suddenly, there was silence, and he fell down in pain, holding with his bruised hands to his head. They hadn't gone. The laughs, the voices, they were still there, reminding him of the past. 

And the reflection, that image that once was captured in the mirror was still there too, looking at him from somewhere deep in his fears.