That morning, it happened; what she feared most.

For so long, she couldn’t face her face; leery of any surface that might hold a reflection, capture an image. Her bathroom was always in darkness; prisms no longer dangled in her windows refracting light across the floor.

Creeping, skiddling from shadow to shadow; turned her back on plate-glass windows. Steered clear of pools and puddles.

Painted the stainless-steel appliances and sink a matte black. Used plastic cutlery, paper plates and ceramic knives. Hung black-out curtains on windows. Television set always on; fired up laptop eyes closed.

In the darkness of her apartment, drone of tv and hum of computer, nothing reflecting remained in her life. She was safe.

But then, a daylight delivery she needed to retrieve. Anti-glare sunglasses and visored hat. Ventured. Out. Into hallway, down steps. Holding breath; ragged, jagged puffs when she exhaled. Front door.

She heard a whistling tune behind her. The new neighbour – she’d heard him whistling each morning since he moved in about a month ago. She stood aside to let him pass. In that sliver of a second, it happened. He’d duct taped a mirror to the handlebars of his bicycle. A small round reflecting surface. She saw what she feared most: she had no reflection.

A quick write/quick study, lightly edited, for Stephanie’s tale weaver prompt: fear. (If I don’t a fast free write, nothing would ever get posted these days. And not the fear I started out to fictionalize)

To read Stephanie’s wonderful prose, visit Word Adventures. It’s worth the trip.

I have several fears, some rationale, some not so. I do have a mirrory surface phobia: I dislike the days when I see my mother staring back at me. When I was a child, I often looked at myself in store windows and toaster sides. My mother said it was my vanity; I knew I was just checking to make sure I was still visible.