Reflection
Warning: Distorted body image thoughts. Possibly triggering.
A glance up at the mirror was all it took for the thoughts to start up again.
'How ugly. Dark circles under the eyes. Tired eyes even, they look like they belong on a dead person. Disgusting. Oh look, it seems like I've gained weight again. Figures.'
Wrenching his eyes away from the revolting scene didn't even stop them.
They kept going, and it was like this always.
It had gone on for so long now that Mathew wasn't even sure that he wanted it to stop. It was a familiar routine that he instinctively knew was as a part of him as the ugly, gangly, too-thin, too-skinny body he had to wear to live. Too bad he couldn't change either.
It was just an over-heard conversation that got him thinking that he could, perhaps, change just one thing. The one thing that reminded him of the other one thing that he hated most in the world. Who knew that listening to his old father-figure parent, Arthur, talk about making it so that his papa wouldn't be able to ever see his reflection again and stop primping himself would give him such a delicious idea. It was delectable. The taste of it only got sweeter when he was able to pry out of the drunken Brit the words he would need to say for it to happen, for it to work.
He was responsible. He held himself back from rushing right out of there and trying it right away. He took care of Arthur and brought him safely back to his own home before he broke the speed limit, going by at least three radar cameras while doing so too, to get back home and finally make one of his dreams come true. It was going to be glorious. Even if he was still stuck with such a vomit-inducing body, at least he wouldn`t ever have to see it again if only he could just get this one thing right.
He whispered the words in front of the mirror, staring into his own weird, not-right coloured eyes, then frowned when it didn`t work and said it again louder. Nothing. He spent that entire night in front of the mirror trying over and over and over again.
There was nothing.
It had failed, but of course it failed. Everything he ever did had always failed. Why should this have been different? His hand running through his greasy blond hair was his only comfort. Whatever, he had to get over this. Just like he got over everything. Because today he had a meeting on…something with his brother. He had to show up for it. Play nice, fake some smiles that always felt more like grimaces to him but seemed to never fail to give others comfort.
'Why was he so bad at all of this?'
Life was just too hard for someone like him who failed at everything to succeed in it even a little bit.
Then something strange happened when he walked into the room, ten minutes ahead of schedule and just before Alfred did too. When Alfred came in he didn't even notice his brother sitting there, staring at him, waiting for him to say hello back after he'd called it out himself. His brother just started tapping his shoes, glancing at his wristwatch, at the clock on the wall, and at the door, waiting for something at the same time as Mathew waited for him to acknowledge him.
That recognition of his very existence never came.
When he tried to speak again and say hello, his throat choked up and all that came out was a strangled whisper, a pitiful shadow of its former light. Now he couldn't even speak, and when he had gone up to his brother and started shaking him, his brother had freaked out and started screaming at him, the room in general, and banging on the door screaming about a ghost or something trying to kill him.
What was this? What was going on?
"Oh, I see.' Mathew thought with some recognition delivered to him in a flash of brilliance that far outshone his current self in this predicament. 'Instead of me making myself invisible to myself, I made myself invisible to others.'
It seems I failed even more than I thought I had then. Oh well. I don't care anyways.