Looking Glass

His head hurt. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He felt his insides churning as he looked right at the looking-glass. Realization hit like cold water on a winter evening.

Six months before the realization: He was trying to hold back his tears as he climbed up the terrace of his apartment. The sun shone at his majestic best, and birds were chirping from the trees nearby. He noticed none of this. His parents had just announced their impending divorce. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t seen it coming. They always fought. He felt alone. As he continued to cry, through the mirror on the wall in front, he saw someone approaching. The guy looked almost his age but he had never seen him before. His jet-black pupils showed purpose. He introduced himself as Vasu, said he had just moved in today. Vasu comforted him, asked him why he was crying. He did not know that his life was about to be changed.

Six months after the realization: He sat in the garden facing the entrance of the rehabilitation center. He felt the sun’s warmth on his face. He could hear the faint chirping of the birds far away. He took his time answering the question posed at him. He knew the police officer would understand. He had been through a lot. In a jolt he remembered that they had cut his hair in the morning; he wondered what he looked like. He asked the man if he had a looking-glass with him. The small pocket-mirror fit nicely in his hands. As he looked at his reflection, appreciating his new hair-cut, he made up his mind. Without taking his eyes off the mirror, he said:

“It was Vasu. I thought he was a friend. I know what he looks like. I was there when he stabbed my parents to death. He never flinched. He had no remorse; he still doesn’t. I should know.”

Three months before the realization: He and Vasu were sitting in his room. They had grown closer over the past three months. They talked a lot. His parents had moved out to different places two weeks back, having said “you are old enough to manage on your own.” He agreed.

He had Vasu now. Vasu sympathized with him, explaining that it was unfair of his parents to separate and destroy his life. But the measure Vasu now suggested sent chills down his spine. Sure it was one thing to hate his parents, but to kill them for it? He stared hard at the mirror in his room, trying to make up his mind.

Three months after the realization: He was sitting in his room at the rehabilitation center. As he washed his plate, he noticed his reflection on steel. His hair had grown all over and his eyes drooped from their sockets. The past months had taken a toll on him. Suddenly he heard a voice, and someone emerged from the shadows.

“Vasu, you, how dare you come again? Remember the last time?!” he screamed.

“Yes, you almost killed yourself.”

He sighed, looking at the healing cut on his hand.

“I only ask one thing.” Vasu said, “The moment you are fine, police will ask questions. You tell them you don’t know anything.”

“Why should I?”

“It’s for your own good.”

A month before the realization: He had just finished setting up his room in the apartment. He stood up as he heard the bell ring, it was his parents. He had asked them to visit. He and Vasu had planned his revenge. Twenty minutes later, when his parents settled in, he took the shining new crowbar Vasu had bought for him. The weapon. But as he approached them from behind, he felt his hands weaken. He started sweating. He felt a stronger pair of hands overpowering him, and as he fell unconscious he could see the crowbar slashing its targets. The hot gushing blood splashed all over his face.

A month after the realization: He had just finished setting up his room in the rehabilitation center. The bed looked good, even though he knew he couldn’t sleep properly. The images of his parents lying dead in their own blood tormented him everyday. He heard a voice. He turned around to see Vasu.

“Where were you all this time! I thought I’ll never get to talk to you again. That day, I couldn’t do it. Thank god I couldn’t, I would have died of guilt. But someone else took the crowbar from me. The police say it was a burglar. I, I don’t know what to do,” he started crying.

“It was me,” said Vasu coldly. As he raised his head in disbelief, Vasu continued, “You were too weak, I had to step up. It’s all for your own good. We are a team, remember?” He felt his head spinning. He lunged at Vasu with the only thing he had with him, his nail-cutter. The last thing he remembered was blood oozing out of the teared skin.

The realization: It’s been a month since his parents were killed. The police had found them dead and himself injured at the spot. They had concluded it was a robbery attempt. They asked him for any identification. He did not remember. Right now, he was walking through the apartment ground, struggling to find peace. It was a cloudy day, and all the birds were inside their nests. He found a broken looking-glass on his path. He eerily remembered it as being the one on the terrace wall. Must have fallen down. He picked it up,

His head hurt. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He felt his insides churning as he looked right at the looking-glass. Realization hit like cold water on a winter evening. He was Vasu.