What looked back at him from the mirror, he did not recognize. At least not, at first. It was like looking at a baby picture of yourself. If no one told you, you would never know it was you in the picture.
The man in the mirror did not resemble the man he’d last seen in the mirror. This man had scraggly white hair, with tiny streaks of black, here and there. The hair was quite literally beyond the put away wet and left to dry stage. It looked as if some misinformed hair stylist had gotten stoned, then made an extremely bad attempt at creating, a new hair style. If there was a part in his hair, he could not find it. Perhaps this illusionary hair stylist was not trying to make one. His hair somehow seemed to have managed, to seek escape from his head, in every direction. Why it was nearly all white, instead of the black he’d went to sleep with, was another matter in itself. He could not fathom the change in color. It did not look bleached. It looked like it naturally turned white. The bags under his eyes could probably carry all the luggage he would need for a very long trip. The white hair, on his face and neck, looked as if he had been making a very bad attempt, at growing a beard and mustache. It was almost as if he were back in collage, trying to impress the ladies with his feeble attempt, at looking like a badass.
This thought nearly sent him into a fit of laughter but he was far too afraid to laugh. Far too afraid. For he knew, if he began to laugh, he might never stop. Indeed, when you look into the mirror you expect to see, someone you know. The only thing in this mirror that looked the least bit familiar to him, was his steel-blue eyes, looking back at him. Even they seemed colder than usual. Yes, he knew, if he began to laugh now, he would find himself in a well-padded room, in short order.
He quickly turned and left the bathroom. If he would of looked behind him, he would have noticed the light turn itself off. But he did not look behind. He had only thing on his mind at this point and nothing was going to stop him from this new goal. It was a simple goal really. He needed a cup of coffee and to sit down. Just for a few minutes. He needed to sip the beautiful taste of hot coffee and to have some time to think about all that changed overnight. He charged down the hallway, heading straight for the kitchen. Hoping with every molecule of his body that it was still there. When he reached the corner, he turned right and entered the kitchen. He was thankful to find it where he’d left it, yet, none to happy to discover that every counter had absolutely nothing sitting on it.
His first thought upon entering the room was “Where the fuck did my coffee maker go?” His next thought was not much nicer. ” Could this day possibly get any MORE fucked up?” He took a few defeated steps into the completely empty kitchen, and placed his hands upon the island counter, for support. The island counter instantly lit up.
To be continued(hopefully)…