Silhouette

Slams against window
The hissing breeze
Making foggy shadow
As it cease
Tiny dew drops
Fall in streaks
From the reed on slope
Standing in bleak

It is almost midnight. I wake up with a start. For an instant, I cannot decide where I am. I can hear the rain pouring outside, drumming against the tin of the roof. I can watch tiny raindrops streaming down on the window pane, blurring all that is beyond the glass. A faint light from the bedside lamp bathes the room in its dim yellow light, turning everything into obscure dark objects. There is nothing that I remember or recognise, yet it feels like my own humble abode. Sitting upright in the bed, I look around for familiar signs. The room seems to be slightly deformed. The misshapen walls don’t meet at the corners. The sharp white edges merge into one another under the vague cloud of murky darkness.

Everything in the room, including the contemporary study table, the vintage wooden wardrobe, and the little book rack beside the gold-rimmed wall mirror, has turned into a vignette. Everything has taken an infinite Picasso-esque shape. I rub my eyes and look around again. On the wall that faces my bed, I see a dark feminine form. The silhouette of a woman – perfectly sculpted against the haphazard alignment of slouchy bricks. The only thing in the room with a defined outline. She perches on her throne like a proud mistress. Her flawless angles in this horribly distorted room pique my curiosity to take a good look at her.

I slide forward in bed, moving a little nearer to the wall. The shadow of a woman moves with me. Taken aback, I slip out of my bed. Imitating my actions, the feminine shape also slides down her throne and faces me with a proud tilt of her chin. I take a step back to see if it would follow every insignificant movement of mine. Surprisingly, the shape steps back. Hypnotised by the sheer perfection of this enchanting figure standing a few feet away, I feel an urge to liberate her from the confines of the wall and absorb her into me.

I inch closer to it. Hesitatingly, I spread my fingers in a way so that just their tips are rubbing against the chalky roughness of pale paint. Instantly, She mimics the motion and merges her palm into mine as I place my hand fully on the wall. Palm against palm, separated by a thin veil of form and being, together we walk toward the full-length mirror only four feet away from the spot where we stand. As we reach the mirror, I pull back my hand to light half-used white candles resting on the silver candle stand beside the mirror. The room illuminates as the flames flicker above the candle wax. I lift my head to reconnect with the shape in the mirror.

Unexpectedly, I find myself face to face with my own reflection that is not so mine.

A woman is staring back at me with the same inquisitive brown eyes as mine. She has my face, my hair, my arms, my legs, my hands, and whatnot that is identical to mine! She is my double, trapped inside the walls and shackled by the mirror. Yet, there is something about her that is conspicuously very different. I let my nightgown slip down my shoulders. My big, dark, kohl-rimmed eyes sweep over my reflection from head to toe. Admiring the beautiful features of my face, it roves down the slender kissable neck, over my small bosom concealed behind the thick web of dark tresses, and down to my thin narrow waist.

My dark face dusted with pimples and moles looks almost translucent and clear of any unwanted blemish. I bring my hands close to my face and caress the skin, looking for blotches and spots. I look for the rash that had stamped my skin for nineteen years. A long pale scar ran down my right cheek from the ear to the corner of my lips, reminiscent of the torment I had experienced as a kid over my dark complexion. I had picked up my grandmother’s pumice stone and rubbed it hard on my cheek as if it would wash away the darkness and peel away my brown skin, revealing fair skin beneath. No fairness appeared, but a pale scar on my cheek remained that mocked me every time I saw myself in the mirror until now…

I move my hands down, over my back, caressing my generous, well-rounded bottom. I never liked it. Always felt it was huge in proportion to the rest of my body. But this instant, it looks perfect, complementing the rest of me. I turn my back to the mirror and peer over my shoulder. My candescent golden skin is radiating warmth in candlelight. I turn and twist. Revelling in the sheer beauty of my flawless reflection. With a turn of my head, I let my hair fall over my breasts again. Then clutching the mess in my hands over my head, I release them again, gently, letting those satin curls cascade around my neck, over my shoulders, and back. I stand on the tips of my toes and stretch my arms higher, up above my head, watching my belly being sucked in.

I feel like a siren, a temptress, a goddess. I feel beautiful and alluring. My pupils dilate and my eyes glow as I excite myself with my own sensuality before this gold-rimmed mirror. I smile to myself and fall back on the bed. I touch my slim legs, run my hand down my thick thighs adorned by stretch marks, over my plump calves, and finally the dainty narrow feet. I play with my toes, pulling them until the tips blush and turn the colour of beetroot. I laugh heartily, rejoicing in perfection, and my shoulders shake with mirth. God! I feel so happy!

The trickling of rain on the roof has stopped. Heavy rain has turned into a harmless drizzle. It must have washed all the dirt that had accumulated on the tin roof. Outside the window, trees are gently swaying. It must have wiped the grime that had stained the window glass for a long time. Streets are clear of all the sludge. It must have flooded away all the muck. Deep inside, I feel light and calm as if something heavy has been lifted off my chest. It must have washed away and drowned all the insecurities…

I lay content on the bed for quite some time. Later, I get back on my feet and stand before the mirror. I stare at myself, long and hard, with my red intoxicated eyes, drinking in my beautiful perfect form for one last time. I lean into the mirror, feeling drained. With a single exhale, I blow out the candles and extinguish my vixen state. Dragging my feet away from the mirror, I place my hands on the wall. Vague, shadowy hands appear beneath my hands. I take a step back and turn my back, feeling weary and satiated.

As I slip into bed, I see this perfect silhouette again, perching on her throne against the distorted room.