2011-03-15 - 1:31 p.m.
I'm sick of being sick. Since The Red Cross guy told me that my hemoglobin was low (you could go back a few entries from here), the fever has been on and off for days. I've tried like, three different meds. (I even drink honey-flavoured warm water everyday now.) My sore throat could only take soft noodles for days (but my stomach now started resenting it.)
I know I should rest more, but I can only do that at weekends. Here's the thing about part-time workers: Skip a day, lose a dime. (Plus, I've spent quite a lot on my own meds.)
There are two other things that disturb me about being sick this often lately:
1.It's a serious delay for my productivity. (I'm a workaholic,remember?) I am so behind the target for all my writing projects! It's hard to concentrate with this ongoing headache. (Unfortunately, this feels like the unusual kind no aspirins can get rid of that quickly!)
2.I had to miss Stone Temple Pilots' performance when they showed up in my town last March 13, because I feel like singing this out loud:
"I AM, I AM, I SAID, I'M NOT MYSELF! I'M NOT DEAD AND I'M NOT FOR SALE!!"
3.I can sleep the whole day off, miss a lot, and get myself trapped again in my own twisted dreams...
This time it was different. I felt myself watching through the looking glass. I saw two people standing face-to-face behind the glass. A man and a woman. The woman was familiar.
Hey!
I blinked.
That was me. But she - I mean, I - looked different. All clad in sexy black leather and spiky stiletto boots (something I'll never do in humid Jakarta!) My - her - long, curly dark hair was loose. Her face was well-polished with make-up. She looked unusually stunning that she surprised me. Beautiful, like some mythical urban goddess out of some strange tale.
However, there was something sinister about her that gave me the creeps. Her - my - eyes were darker than dark. She was smiling at the guy.
I touched the glass in front of me. Cold. Thick. I shuddered.
I didn't get a good look at the guy, even at a very close range. His profile rapidly changed in blurs. I could see he was smiling at me - her - though. He had that expression of a man in love.
"I love you," he told her. I could detect the truth in his voice that it almost brought tears to my eyes.
Is it for real?
"I love you too," she and I both replied. But we sounded different. She sounded hollow. Mechanical and...cold.
Eerie seconds passed. Then she started laughing hard...at him. Her eyes showed nothing more but...merciless evil.
What the hell is she doing? I pushed, and then realized in horror. Why am I trapped in the mirror?
"What?" The guy was shocked. Her high-pitched laughter pierced my ears.
"Can't you tell?" She sneered, clearly enjoying the sight of him hyperventilating with pain in front of her now. "I just said those words only because I know that's what you want to hear."
"Y-you mean..."
"Oh, come on." She scoffed impatiently. By that time, I was already pounding at the unbreakable glass. "It's not like a lot of people don't do that these days. Saying 'I love you' and then taking it back, as if they'd never done. As if those words meant nothing!"
"Don't listen to her!" I tried warning the poor guy, but it was too late. He looked powerless, as if she'd put a permanent hex on him through her words, her steely voice. The invisible poison.
But that bitch noticed me. That bitch - who used my body to hurt the guy - walked gracefully and stood facing me with her wicked smile. Her eyes glared at me with disgust.
"What are you doing?!" I screamed at her. She laughed again.
"Something you can never do without remorse afterwards," she said coldly. She was raising her fist. "No wonder you're so weak. So bloody pathetic!"
"NO!" I backed away, raising my arms with my eyes shut. But I didn't hear the glass shatter. Nothing.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my room. Lying in bed, hands up in the air. I sat up, realizing that I'd been shivering in cold sweats. I pulled my blanket around me.
Then I stared at the mirror.
She was gone. Thank God. There was only...me, pale from both fever and fear.
It was just a dream, I know. I'm sure most people will tell me not to take it so seriously and it was probably from the fever.
But once you learn that all people are capable of serious evil, you can't just shake that off.
I still glared hard at my reflection - silently commanding:
You are not her. You will never be her. No matter how hard it is, no matter how bloody cruel and painful love often is. You will never let that happen, because you owe it to no one but yourself. Promise!
God, help me please. I'm scared.
There's still time for a short rest before my night class at seven.
When I'm completely well and back on my feet again, I'll make sure none of this shit stays - for the sake of my own sanity.
The Author/SBF/QB
