Mirror, Mirror.

Around 2 AM on a Saturday, I felt like crap. I don't know why, I don't know how. I just felt like crap. It was pitch dark, the electricity was gone again, something I was getting used to now. I had been studying physiology and all of a sudden I felt like my own systems were betraying me so badly. I tried to stare aimlessly into the darkness around, letting the illuminance of the heater guide me to finding a place for myself. I sat down in front of it, legs curled under myself. I stared hard into the orange flames that danced in front of me. One by one, trying to impress me with their skills. I looked at the metallic rods behind which the fire dwelled, how hot they'd be? Enough to burn skin in and out, bring the underlying flesh to surface. The heat on my cheeks kept increasing, but I seemed totally oblivious to it. I just wanted to stare pointlessly into the flames. I rested my hands neatly on lap, trying so hard to look composed, but as one of my friends rightly said, "Sidra Chaudhry sucks at looking composed". I clasped my hands together in a futile attempt to keep my insides from shaking. But sometimes you feel cold to the very core of being regardless of all the summer's heat and all the warmth of the world's suns. I stare up towards the ceiling in hopes that maybe the waters in my eyes will divert, but I was so wrong. I tried to roll my eyeballs, to prevent the tears from falling. But rebellious tears I tell you, they find their own ways. As the first drop fell on my burning cheeks, I felt something break deep, vey deep inside. Crack. Like a scratched mirror, that could no longer tell "who was the fairest one of all?"...