When Ghosts Dream by M.R. Adams

Author:M.R. Adams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-05-07T00:00:00+00:00

4

Carmen Santiago had built her home, albeit hastily and haphazardly. Black boards loosely stacked one on top of the other, bent nails not hammered through, a cherry wood door cut crooked and on one hinge–the haven seemed unable to withstand a huff or a puff. There was only one eccentricity with any sense: ten portals unfitted with glass panes to allow only two visitors, the sun and the breeze.

She always wanted a house on the beach. She dreamed of waking up to the sound of rolling and crashing waves. In Hell, she only heard her voice; she only saw her image. For an eternity, her skeletal reflections taunted her. “You fat pig!” “No one will ever love you!” “Why do you even care what they think?!” “You’re pathetic!” “No one would care if you died.” With every tear, every scream, another mirror appeared. When they started reaching out, pulling her hair, getting their fingers around her neck, she knew a new Hell was coming, an eternity of suicide. The reflections fell silent.

Yes, she had killed herself without knowing. For ten years, she had tried to see something beautiful in the mirror. Food was the enemy, keeping her from sculpted cheekbones and couture gowns. But now she knew beauty wasn’t her desire. She had longed to wipe herself off the slate of existence. But why? It didn’t matter. Life was done. She had to escape. Looking at her many, frighteningly redundant selves, she beheld a rosy plumping of her cheeks and hips. Her brown eyes regained a luster, yellow flecks sparkling. For the first time, she recognized her beauty but laughed. What did it matter? A shadow wrapped around her forming a gown. She felt a warmth in the dark silhouette and embraced it. In the mirror, she smiled. Approaching herself, she reached through the glass, touching her face, her image stroking her hand. Stepping through, she hugged herself, took her head in her palms, then squeezed her throat. She fought, digging her nails into her arms, begging: “I don’t understand,” she said. “I can be free. I can help myself.” In her last breath, she uttered her ultimate word: “they.” She fell to smoke.

Carmen continued through the vacated looking glass and found her beach. In her house, the mirror portal stood in her master suite. Her hair manic upon arriving home, she sat before her reflection and brushed her mane one thousand times until tamed into silky strands. Over the next eternity, she learned to make the shadow gown dance until the dark glittered into black diamonds. The dress was beauty; the dress was armor. The weight required she move slowly; the diamond edges, deliberately. Once, the squawk of a seagull at the window startled her, and she twisted, the jewels cutting her breast. In the past, she would have cried at such an imperfection, but beauty was pain. Blood was beauty.

She would comb her hair, walk on the beach, and digest the waves, never paying much mind to the couple laughing and drinking their afterlives away.

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