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Sometimes I forget to check.

An’ the hands grab me, fists flying in my face, an’ lights explode in my head. If I’m lucky I’m out before I hit the ground, an’ I don’t remember the boots kicking me as I curl up tight an’ try to protect my head.

But I can’t block out the voices: they tell me what’s coming next.

I never did nothing so bad as to deserve this hell.

Match the story (and the number) to the face at Mirrors.

2 Comments

Evegeny

7 January 2005 at 2:33 am

Oh Dear…! Take my wild applause, the deepest respect and sincere admiration. I believe, that your short stories regarding Mirrors and the idea itself are absolutely magnificent. I am really impressed. Please, go on… And great thanks, sure :))))))