In the mirror appeared too big for my face. I blinked. They were mine.
I studied them. Silvery fog, ringed by lighter color and darker towards the center. They grew slightly or contracted slightly as I made small movements. There was a slight ocre cast, or gleam.
I began to feel unsettled. In my stomach, a sick churning commenced. Still I looked. I looked away and back again. Turned my head this way and that. Closed my eyes and opened them. I felt sudden terror as I opened my eyes and my reflection was still starting at me. I ran from the room.
I felt irrational fear. I suddenly was paranoid that there was something here with me, in my room. Small sounds, little movements all caught my startled attention.
I came back hesitantly. I tried again. Still those too-large saucers still stared back at me. From eyebrow to cheekbone. They shine eerily with a dark light. Like dark light through silvery fog. Perfectly round. I tried to close my eyes halfway. Most of the way. All the way and still look. The saucers still stared back from the mirror regardless.
This effect was too unnerving. A tight clawing sensation in my stomach became very strong. I fled again, and came back with my glasses. I felt relief to notice that nothing at all appeared unusual with my glasses on. I tipped my head down to look over my glasses. There were the saucers. Fear gripped my belly. I tipped back immediately, and grabbed a bar of soap and drew a vesica on the mirror.
I did the same for the little makeup mirror to my left.
This morning, I didn’t see the saucers. I did feel a certain quality of uneasiness about staring in my eyes in the mirror, though. A quality of looking for something that was now unseen.
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