The mirror was no more than a shard. It was all that was left of their house on the hill. Gina had returned to the rubble in the cover of twilight to find her locket, the one with her mother's picture. It was risky with the Enforcers about. They carried weaponry not allowed by Ordinaries. She had not found the locket, and she still pined for it, but her eye had been drawn to a reflection of moonlight and she had found it there. The mirror itself had been displayed in the grand entrance, it was taller than her, five feet maybe and was most exquisitely framed with gold. Her mother used to gaze in it before she left the house, straightening her hat and brushing imaginary dirt from her cherry red jacket. Gina smiled momentarily, but then it faded. Her mother would never leave the house again. And neither would her dear father. Then at the sound of a dog barking not far off she fled into the trees. If she were she caught who would care for her baby brother?


The looking glass that I stare into is wall-mounted; encircled by a frame of threadlike strands of silver, interlaced together in a mock-liana arrangement.

By missmilton, September 6, 2013.

Found in Marian, authored by Francesca Milton.


The mirror was small and cheap, about the size of the cell phones all the up-town kids were carrying. It was the kind you see in a dollar store thickly rimmed in white plastic, the kind that's in landfill not even a month later. The shiny surface was covered in greasy fingerprints and there was a lipstick smear. Jared stuck it in his pocket anyway, tacky though it was it could be useful in a pinch - a flash of light at the right time from the right place could make all the difference.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 25, 2015.

The mirror had that patina of age over the bronze frame, likewise the surface of the glass was splotched black in places. Kinzey stood and stared at himself, or at least the distorted image of himself. The mirror showed him the boy the world saw, all they saw, somehow it didn't seem right. Inside he was fireworks and rage, love and frustrations, ambition and fear. All they saw was brown hair and the kind of blue eyes you forget while you're still looking at them. He ran a finger over the frame, feeling its cool ridges and grooves and the layer of dust that clung. Perhaps he'd take it with him, it didn't belong in this old dump anyway...

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 25, 2015.
Poetry / General

Mirror Mirror, if i change my hair
maybe someone will start to care.

Mirror Mirror, if i starve myself
at least ill be pretty,forget my health

Mirror Mirror, if i cut my wrist
will i feel like i exist?

Mirror Mirror, don't you see?
what you show, its ruining me

For far too long it had watched her cry
so the mirror decided to reply

What you see? it isn't true
the misery is found inside of you

Don't lock yourself in a broken soul
or i promise you one day you'll lose all control.

By Karla McKeown, June 1, 2015.

I have a friend who tells only the truth, she always speaks yet not in words but in reflection of the person who is standing before her...

By theunknownkiller, June 3, 2015*.