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Gerascophobia- the fear of growing old. Part one
My bathroom's different from everyone else, even different than yours for sure.
Why?
The sink does not sit below the mirror and the mirror is not above the sink. It's the most important rule.
They are far apart away from each other, one in the first right corner and the second in the left farthest corner, sitting alone, gazing at me. I get close to it very rare, but sometimes...I got curious and things take a turn for the worse.
Mirror. A surface capable of reflecting sufficient undiffused light to form an image of an object placed in front of it. Also called looking glass. Something that faithfully reflects or gives a true picture of something else.
A true picture of me, of my face surrounded by light freckles and dark-blue eyes.
But there's something more than that, behind the young flesh old devils asphyxiate my skin. It's ticklish at the beginning, almost unnoticeable. However, it's growing, it's getting more carnivorous, demanding fresh surface, taking away my youth.
I can see myself growing old, changing, in my mirror.
My red hair change in dead white, while my body gets weaker, smaller, vulnerable. I breathe hard and everything it's painful.
The atmosphere gets heavy, like a roof starting to get down, to fall slowly under me, stressing me out and coming closer, ready to erase me. I should go away, but I always stayed until the end.
Cracking bone sounds can be heard from behind me...she's here, earlier than usual. Something must be wrong.
She calls herself "old age". Always being with me when I take a look at myself, I kind of wait for her every time. In front of the mirror, in the farthest corner, meters from the sink, miles away from the door.
Even embraced by the light of a small pale lightning bulb I still feel cold.
From the shadows formed on the walls of the room, I see her skinny arms reaching for my face, sharp black nails peeling my skin off.
My heart is racing and fear gets stuck in my neck, piercing through my body, making me completely still.
I never saw her face, but I can feel her cold breath against my ear...whispering in a young voice that doesn't fit her, as if it isn't hers:
"I am so glad you're still so young."
© rubickon
Why?
The sink does not sit below the mirror and the mirror is not above the sink. It's the most important rule.
They are far apart away from each other, one in the first right corner and the second in the left farthest corner, sitting alone, gazing at me. I get close to it very rare, but sometimes...I got curious and things take a turn for the worse.
Mirror. A surface capable of reflecting sufficient undiffused light to form an image of an object placed in front of it. Also called looking glass. Something that faithfully reflects or gives a true picture of something else.
A true picture of me, of my face surrounded by light freckles and dark-blue eyes.
But there's something more than that, behind the young flesh old devils asphyxiate my skin. It's ticklish at the beginning, almost unnoticeable. However, it's growing, it's getting more carnivorous, demanding fresh surface, taking away my youth.
I can see myself growing old, changing, in my mirror.
My red hair change in dead white, while my body gets weaker, smaller, vulnerable. I breathe hard and everything it's painful.
The atmosphere gets heavy, like a roof starting to get down, to fall slowly under me, stressing me out and coming closer, ready to erase me. I should go away, but I always stayed until the end.
Cracking bone sounds can be heard from behind me...she's here, earlier than usual. Something must be wrong.
She calls herself "old age". Always being with me when I take a look at myself, I kind of wait for her every time. In front of the mirror, in the farthest corner, meters from the sink, miles away from the door.
Even embraced by the light of a small pale lightning bulb I still feel cold.
From the shadows formed on the walls of the room, I see her skinny arms reaching for my face, sharp black nails peeling my skin off.
My heart is racing and fear gets stuck in my neck, piercing through my body, making me completely still.
I never saw her face, but I can feel her cold breath against my ear...whispering in a young voice that doesn't fit her, as if it isn't hers:
"I am so glad you're still so young."
© rubickon
