Teaser for the book I'm working on.. THE MIRROR

THE MIRROR
BY: J.L. COPELAND


PART ONE


Some say that life is merely a game of chance, that you must allow the chips to fall where they may. If you play your cards right, you'll end up cashing out in the end. No one says how much, or how grand it will be, because this is all up to the individual passenger. The lonely warrior of a road that only narrows as time goes by. To be optimistic, to look at the glass as half full instead of half-empty this is how the 'great ones' perceive their journey's and this is their path to success. It's funny, optimism. Like a complimentary slap in the face these lines are thrown out, regurgitated onto young minds and spirits to make them believe that they can accomplish anything, and that really, it won't be that hard. What about the funny little quarks that life has? How it likes to pull the rug every now and again to make everyone aware that the control they think they have, is nothing but an illusion. The sooner you realize you have no control, the more control you will gain. But these are lessons only obtained through hindsight. Very few can be lucky enough to make the right decision's, even, fifty percent of the time. This is the hoot of it all, if you will. Life throws huge, sweeping curve balls that you will never, ever have a chance at. It's like flying blind and deaf all at the same time. I learned this the hard way. It is what landed me where I'm at now.. How curious a thing a moment in time can be how monumentous sixty seconds truly are. But some of these moments must be shared, lessons that many want to learn, yet few grasp understanding. This is my story, a life not far from normal, but miles from reason. This is my sixty seconds.

The curtains were pulled almost completely shut, all but for a small slit, allowing a narrow stream of warm sunlight to dance across my face making my cheeks tingle. As my body slowly idled, I realized that the rest of the world was awakening. Some parts had been up for hours already. Dave, the Wonder Bread man was making his normal delivery to Anne's Bakery across from the Market Wal-Mart. Cute, little Suzie Parks with her bouncing brunette locks mashed to her forehead, was hunching over her bundle of Exclaimer Newspapers trying to get her arthritic fingers to unbind the stack of news. She delivered her stack to the local gas station every morning at 7:00 a..m. sharp. Her beauty was the hidden kind, one that was far too great for such a mediocre existence. It was familiar, a feeling that shot electricity up and down my frame without warning. I couldn't stand to look at her long. Most of these people, even with the early hours, were sunny, happy to be breaking a hard sweat and their backs for a small pension. None of these people knew me. I occasionally passed by them on my way to work as they were ending their day. Pondering what they went home too, how their lives were. If they looked forward to going home and receiving passionate hugs and kisses from loved ones. I watched all this from a far, I always watched. They knew that I was giving them the once over, and I'm sure they didn't like it much. I came to this conclusion because of the awkward smiles they returned. A look of, "Hey, I know you’re looking at me, and to be quite honest Jack, I don't appreciate it all that much!" Most would take recognition to this, and work on altering the pattern. If it was possible I probably would too, but for some reason I was hooked. In imagining these storylines, I felt free, it was my morning coffee. I guess it was the way to numb what my day was going to be like for the next seven hours.. That is neither here nor there right now though, I'm running late for work as usual.

My eyes had a stagnant film over them that seemed relentless in their pursuit to keep their prisoners locked away. This was a routine debate that carried on every morning, day in and day out. This stagnant avenger won most of the battles, as the snooze alarm became inevitable. Today was different though. I felt revived, only mentally. Physically I was the same, maybe worse off than yesterday, but I'm not sure. The same sores, old wounds cried out in agony, stretching their boundaries to keep me still. The confrontation that ignited from my brain through my nerves to the inflicted areas were audible in the cracks and wheezing of my lungs as I tore myself off of my queen size. As I rested, quietly, propped up on my elbow I noticed the time, 6:55 a.m., thirty-five minutes to get to work. Not that I really cared, but one must remember, today seems to be a different day. I ran my hands throw my hair, realizing that my hiatus from showering needed to come to a halt, showering this morning was a must. I'm not going to go out on the limb to shave, albeit, the five o'clock shadow is still in. As I tediously felt my way through my room, I knew that somewhere, under all the piles of debris there was the Jack Daniels bottle lying somewhere, from the night before, waiting to attack my toes like a serpent. Caution was imperative, although the thought of a serpent in my room made me giggle a bit. I had flashes of Star Wars, better yet, Nessy herself, supporting a healthy J.D. tattoo on her side, all the while slithering through my room waiting to pounce. Thoughts like these make me realize how, truly, lonely I must be. Never-the-less, the worst part of my day was upcoming, and coming quickly. I had to face my mirror. This was my ritual, the habitual realization that life is unfair, that I have wasted opportunities that will never grace my fingertips again. My mirror has two sides, one being the reflection of who I have become, the other being the person that I was supposed to be. As I settle on the figure staring back at me I become weak, unaware that he is screaming at me in disgust. I hate him, I loathe his existence in this place, yet I can not escape him. He never falters, he never waivers, always on time and always judging. No matter how many times the pieces are shattered, I can never defeat him. I know because I've tried several times to no avail. But face him I must. Its different everyday, I guess he has mood swings. I seem him snickering this morning. Is it at me? I'm not sure what to make of it. "What are you laughing at?" I ask as my hand runs across my jaw to feel the jagged stubble standing at attention. "What do you think I'm laughing at? It's a grand day, a different day is upon us, and I feel ambitious. Is there something wrong with this?" the stranger replies. I shrug him off and pop off the lid to my tooth brush. As I lather the bristles I feel the need to close my eyes and shut down for a bit. Try not to make contact with the damned mirror. I tense up as the razor blades in my brain remind me that I can't block out what is and what always will be. As I turn the lights back on in my eyes the man in the mirror is still, at this point it was worth noting that it was me again. I can never get past the bags, the dark circles, and the ring of yellow sneaking up around my pupils. I've lost too much weight; my hair seems to be thinning down the middle but not enough for anyone else to notice. Not that anyone would. I decide to skip the shower and just get dressed, less time in the bathroom means less time to think. After all, this day is one for the books, I can feel it crawling up the walls of my chest and squeezing tightly around my soul. It's positive, its optimistic, a different smell than what is expected.

I couldn't think of this right now, I was late for work. As I ran out the door I had to shake my head steadily several times to get this feeling of wonderment out. It was like sweeping the cob webs out of an old storage building to find the critters that had accompanied it for so long.


.....Still working on it - but I'm having a bit of writers block..or I've just written myself into a corner with the story.. So I might post more in the near future to see what everyone thinks. That is..if anyone reads this... LOL.