The Silent Witness

Every woman has a small, dilapidated mirror hiding in her bathroom.

It may have a porcelain backing, decorated with flowers.

It may have strange remnants from the larger setting that it once belonged to—perhaps an old compact—still hanging from it.

It may be one of those dreaded dual travel sets that contain one normal mirror, and one mirror that magnifies to magnificent proportions.

It may even be cracked.

Every woman has a mirror like this. A secret mirror, used each night to monitor the size of pores and stray facial hairs, to check the back of heads before events or the peculiar mole in the peculiar place.

To clean it is to admit its existence, and so it is usually caked with grime.

It is the most comprehensive witness in the judgement of women, which is why it is concealed in the backs of cupboards, shoved beneath makeup in vanities, routinely slammed between drawers and rarely shared between family or friends.

This is also why it disappears so quickly when a woman dies, lest another person force secrets from its silvery depths…

3 thoughts on “The Silent Witness

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