Brian has a BA in creative writing. At times he has also tried his hand at drawing cartoons, being in a band, and writing poetry. Right now he is concentrating on short fiction.

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“What if I went around and collected all the mirrors that people set out for the trash?”

“I don’t know. That might be kind of creepy. You’d get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom or something and you’d catch a glimpse of your reflection and you wouldn’t know if it was you or someone breaking into your house to slit your throat open. And plus your apartment would look like a funhouse.”

“I guess you’re right. I don’t want anyone to think I’m having any fun.”

But he started collecting the mirrors anyway. He didn’t consciously decide to do it, but the next time he saw a gilt-framed full-length mirror, he couldn’t help himself.

And then he seemed to find mirrors all the time. And the more mirrors he found the more he couldn’t pass one by on the street. He also found himself stopping at yard sales and antique stores and thrift stores. He knew he wasn’t looking for books or lamps or clothes. He was looking for mirrors.

But he didn’t hang them up around the apartment like he wanted. He just stacked them in his closet. They stood in a line, leaning against each other like wooden soldiers.

He didn’t know what he was going to do with them so they just sat in his closet and waited.

She came over to his apartment because she was going to a costume party as Jeanne Moreau from Jules et Jim. She wanted to borrow a suit. So they opened his closet and she saw all the mirrors he had collected.

“Oh my god, you really did it. How many do you have?”

“I don’t know.”

And they started unloading the mirrors and placing them around his room.

She had already drawn on a mustache and tucked her hair up under his felt hat. Now she put on a tie and his suit which hung on her small frame. He looked at her in all of the mirrors. He wanted to put his hand on her.

He was looking into her eyes and she was looking into her own eyes.

“You look great,” he said.

“Thanks.”

They were sitting on the balcony drinking bad coffee.

She had taken her sandals off and he stared at the tattoo on her foot.

They were talking about something but his mind wasn’t on it.

The conversation somehow turned to her virginity and how she wanted to lose it. His heart raced but he couldn’t take his eyes off the circle on her foot.

“Steve told me that sex opens you up creatively,” she said. Steve was her ex-boyfriend. “But I didn’t want to do it with him.”

“Why not?” he asked after working the saliva back into his mouth.

She just shrugged.

“Sometimes I just want to have sex and get it over with. And see if it’s true. I think I would really like to.”

“What is that tattoo?”

“It’s the ouroboros. A snake eating its own tail. It’s a symbol of eternity.”

He wanted to touch it. He looked at her face. She was looking at him.

“Yeah so let me know if, um, that helps with your art.”

“Ok.”

Somehow, they were suddenly standing at his door. She was leaving. He had his hand on the door and she was looking at him strangely.

“Well. Goodnight,” he said and began to close the door.

“Ok. Goodnight.”

And some part of his brain told him that he was blowing it. He imagined that if he could just stop his hand from closing the door, something would happen. But his hand had started the motion. The only thing that could happen was the door closing and her going home.

He felt sweat trickling down from his armpit. There was something wrong with him.

He walked into his bedroom and lay on his bed. He felt sick.

He got up and opened his closet and started yanking out the mirrors and throwing them into the room behind him.

He unlocked the trunk at the foot of his bed and under some blankets and camping gear, he pulled out a bat. He lifted the bat and felt the heft of it in his hands. He stepped in and swung at one of the mirrors. It popped and glass sprinkled the carpets. He swung at another mirror and felt a satisfying rush as it also smashed. One after another, he demolished the mirrors with merciless blows of the bat. He felt like Thor hammering up thunder storms to drown the wretched.

His feet were bloody from walking barefoot over the broken glass and shards stuck into him all over. But he didn’t feel anything.