• Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
    Who’s the fairest of them all?
    She is, at least that’s what they think at first.
    “Shut up you ugly slug, no one even thinks of you as a girl. And what’s with all those bruises and scrapes? Hah! Fits your ugly face too!”
    I call back angrily in defense. But my words can’t reach her ears, for I am chocked up in embarrassment and shameless guilt.

    Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
    Who’s the cruelest of them all?
    He is, inside and out.
    Papa comes home and throws the empty beer bottle to the floor. It cracks and breaks, scattering where our feet shall bleed.
    Then he spits out in an disgustingly hoarse voice and smacks her across the cheek. And here I am, covered in guilt for not protecting her, shamed for watching and just crying, and damned for having him as a father.

    Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
    Who’s the wisest of them all?
    Mother is.
    Mama tucks me in at bed and kisses me on the forehead - those comforting day to day things.
    She speaks in a singing, delicate voice of reasons of why and why not, and then of the magical lands of heaven. The word “love” even fell from her lips one day, and I hoped that maybe, just maybe, Papa still had love for Mother.

    Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
    Who’s the strongest of them all?
    … I am.
    But it’s no use when I am choked up in fear, in shame, or guilt, for my words can’t reach anyone’s ears.
    So instead, I pack up my belongings and lift Mama’s hand to hold it tightly; and with all I have left, I whisper and stare back into her red,hollow eyes.

    “Mama, let’s go. I don’t want to see you crying no more.”