The Shard of Mirror

Part 1

Diana stood by the window. Incessant rains made vision beyond the alley difficult. A lone raindrop trickled down the window pane. Her slender fingers traced the drop. It made her aware of the solo teardrop caressing her cheek. The teardrop splashed on to a shard of glass fallen on the floor. The entire room was strewn with pieces of glass and glossy paper that were once parts of various photo frames. The computer screen, which once flashed bright with beautiful memories, now lay shattered. Destruction surrounded Diana much like the atmosphere that envelops the earth. Obscure and insignificant words that he had once said to her came rushing back like waves during high tide. It seemed as if her own memories were washing away her emotions. She felt a strange resignation set in. Diana felt completely drained.

Involuntarily, she walked away from the window and stood before the mirror. An ethereally gorgeous image stared back at her, besides her own. She went back to that time when they had stood before the same mirror together and he had softly whispered in her ear, "You see that gorgeous girl in the mirror? I'm completely and madly in love with her." Something of the nature of a fleeting smile crossed Diana's achingly beautiful face. Memories; that was all she had to hold on to. Broken and frustrated, she punched the mirror with her bare and fragile knuckles. She winced as a sharp pain seared through her hand. Her knuckles were bleeding profusely. She pulled out a stubborn shard of mirror that stay stuck to her delicate skin. The pain felt surprisingly comforting. At least, it was better than the pain in her heart.

Diana had felt her heart being ripped apart with intensity so strong that she had thought she wouldn't be able to survive when he'd ended things with her. Yes, heartbreak seemed like more of a physical pain to her. Looking at her knuckles reminded her of those times when he'd taken her hands in his and caressed it. A surge of disbelief washed through her. Denial hit her like a rock in the face. Somehow, the only thing that made her feel better was the pain in her hand that was rising.

Suddenly, she wanted to destroy everything he had touched. Her eyes shone with a wild gleam which withheld the last of all emotions such as pain, joy, love, happiness, sorrow, disbelief and what not. Picking up a jagged piece of mirror, she turned around and ripped apart her bed sheet on which they had spent many a happy hours just lying close to each other. Panting lightly, she picked up the vase on her dressing table and flung it at the wall adjacent to her; he had once arranged roses for her in that vase and the wall was the very same one against which they had leaned when his lips had first tasted hers. Then, she had felt an electricity rush through her. Bit by bit, she destroyed what had remained of his mere materialistic existence.

But alas! Who can stop thoughts from tearing apart the already broken? The sluts that memories are, they intend to pour in at the hours when their existence, we wish, should remain mundane.

The memory of Diana's first kiss continued to haunt her. She remembered each detail like it had all happened just yesterday- the way he had held her by her waist and pulled her close; the way he had piercingly looked into her eyes; the way he had closed her eyes with an electric brush of his fingers on her face; how soft his lips had felt on hers; how easy and natural their tongues had seemed while playing together. All this reminded Diana of the very basic idea- she herself was a memory of him. Of all things that Diana had destroyed, she should have known that it was her that he had left an indelible impression upon.