Mirrors

He walked through the maze of corridors, trying to find his way back to the dining hall where his host was awaiting him. Who puts the damn bathroom so far away from the main hall anyway? he thought to himself as he wandered aimlessly. It seemed as if the abundance of portraits were watching him; as if their eyes were following his every movement. He eyed them each one warily until one painting seemed to be eyeing him back. 
    Immediately, he froze. 
    He squinted and leaned forward slightly while the painting did the same. It took him a moment to realize that he was staring into a mirror. He chuckled to himself and rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, though a glimmer of resentment shone in his eyes. It wasn’t the mirror's fault. In fact, the mirror was beautiful; flawless even. Perfectly polished, to the point where not a single oily fingerprint could be seen anywhere across the reflective glass. Gorgeously complemented by the gold frame that hugged the mirror tightly, swirling and curling across the outer edges like fingers held tightly against a long-lost lover. The resentment in his eyes grew.
    Once there was nothing left to admire about the mirror, he was left with the bitterness of having to stare at himself. Did I forget to comb my hair today? Why does it look like that? Did the barber do that? Or is it just me? he wondered to himself as he reached up to touch his coiled hair self-consciously. Looking down at his shirt, it seemed to wrinkle under the pressure of standing in front of something so superior to him. Did I forget to iron it? Upon further inspection, the long sleeves fit too loosely around his arms, showcasing the lack of muscle he wished he had. Even the fabric around his chest area seemed too loose to be attractive. The only place it looked tight, was around his stomach. I should really work out more… He made a note not to wear his black long-sleeved shirt until he could make it look more flattering. Somehow this mirror was making him feel even more insecure than usual, even as he stared at his jeans. Usually, his thighs were his pride, seeing as they were strengthened from years of sprints and races around the track. However, right now they seemed too big. In comparison to his upper body, was it not weird to have such muscular thighs and such a weak upper body? He turned a bit to examine his butt. It was an odd thing to do, but his butt exhibited the same muscular appearance as his thighs. Why am I so disproportionate? As his head fell further with sadness, his gaze landed on his feet. He wore nice shoes-- expensive ones too, but they made his feet look bigger than they were and his feet were already pretty big… what’s wrong with my body? 
    Finally, he raised his head to meet his eyes, but this time they weren’t glimmering with resentment. Instead, they shimmered with the promise of tears. The only thing left to scrutinize was the colour of his skin itself. Admittedly it was soft, but you couldn’t see that at first glance, or the second. The only thing anyone could see was the promise of mischief and malice that most people believed to accompany the dark tone of his skin. This was the source of most of his pain; most of his scrutiny. I don’t want to look like this. I want to be beautiful like this mirror, like this house, like-- he felt a tug on his sleeve. 
    He looked down to find a little girl staring up at him expectantly. “Are you Ak… Akale?” she asked with a bright smile on her face. She completely mispronounced his name, but she seemed to be around six years old so it was expected. He nodded. 
    “Yay!” she cheered excitedly. She bounced on her toes and her smile brightened, making him feel bad for not providing a more exciting response. Suddenly, he noticed her appearance. Her small pale face, gorgeously complemented by golden ringlets that hugged her face, swirling and curling across the outer edges like fingers stretching for something slightly out of reach. Suddenly she stopped bouncing on her toes and she tilted her head slightly, making him wonder if he had done something wrong. Is it my appearance? Does my skin frighten her? Is it my-- “you’re very pretty.”
With those three simple words, his bubble of negativity and self-hatred was shattered. It was as if he had created a cloud that absorbed all his hateful thoughts like water and condensed them into love. In this case, it was now raining. His lips cracked open to produce a smile of his own, the resentment fading from his eyes. “Now come on, silly. We’re gonna be late!” She exclaimed as she dragged him away from his own sadness.