Trish's breath came out in short bursts as she slammed her fist against the dorm room door. It shuttered in response, but didn't open. For ten minutes she'd been trying to unlock the door, and it refused to yield to her authority. What’s a girl to do but take out her extreme frustration on the poor unsuspecting piece of wood.
"Stupid lock! Why won't you open! Come on, this has gotta be what? The thirtieth time! Come on!" People passed her, giving her odd looks as she muttered to herself. How did things change so quickly? She had been in high spirits that morning. Now she wished that she'd had the foresight to roll over, block the world out with her covers, and go back to sleep.
Trish suddenly slumped forward against the door, deflated and defeated."Why did it have to happen to me?" she asked herself. The forlorn tone of her voice caused people to pause in their steps, but no one but no one stopped. Her blood started to boil and she slammed her palm into the cherry blockade. It was borderline criminal to have the only door in this expensive school that wouldn't open.
Like a toddler throwing a tantrum, she threw her arms up in the air and screamed at the top of her lungs, "What did I do that was so wrong?"
Spinning around, her eyes shot silver daggers at anyone who dared to stare at her during her tirade. People in the hall shrank quickly into their dorm rooms, hoping to avoid a confrontation. The sound of slamming doors and locks latching swirled down the hallway like a ghost whistling a gloomy tune. Studiously oblivious, she thrust the key into the lock once more, turned it, and jiggled it a little.
"Finally," she breathed as the door swung open. Bending down, she grabbed her books and strolled inside, wishing she could throw the stupid things away.
"What is that smell?" she growled as she thrust her leg out to kick the door closed behind her. She tossed her books on top of her desk, beside the neatly compiled pens and papers; a rush of stale air blowing some of the latter onto the floor.
Leaning over, she attempted to yank the window open, but it wouldn't budge. "Shit!" she yelled, stomping her feet. "Why doesn't anything work in this dump of a room?"
She knew she was being melodramatic and she hated the fact that she was doing exactly what she despised in others. A flash of anger roared through her veins like a tidal wave. Her hand instinctively stretched out, grabbing the first object she saw. Without a second thought, she wrenched her eyes shut and hurled her mom's favourite vase at the mirror with all her strength.
An eerie cracking noise echoed around the room, growing louder by the second. She covered her ears to block out the sound, but she still could hear it through the gaps in her fingers. She had the urge to run, but her legs refused to budge. She was immobilized as broken pieces of porcelain and mirror showered on her like a rain forest downpour.
The silence after the storm was deafening. Her rapid breathing was the only sound filling the room as she stood there with her eyes closed; avoiding the wreckage she had inflicted.
Open your eyes Trish!
No, I won't I don't want to see my pathetic image. I'm ugly! And I won't look!
Things change Trish.
I don't want things to change! I want everything to be like it was before.
I don't want to be here. I want to go back.
It took a few minutes before she finally gained the courage to open her eyes. She briefly noted that the ugly, gold-painted vase looked better in pieces than it had ever looked sitting on the coffee table. Sighing, she sank down amongst the fragments, bleak thoughts floating to the surface of her mind.
My entire life is a lie. I'm exactly like this mirror, fragmented and broken.
I'm broken.
....