Category: School
Word count: 505
Note: I've posted this before, but not to SSC, so if you think
it sounds familiar, this is why!

       A STRANGER IN THE MIRROR
            by Haron

The girl in the mirror has huge, grieving eyes; she looks more
terrified than I would ever admit to feeling. In those eyes I
see mistrust. Can one mistrust one's own self? And notice it
in a tiny hand-mirror, in the yellow light of a dormitory?

"Doesn't look so bad," my roommate Lisa says with condescending
sympathy. "What was it like before?"

"Shoulder length," I answer grimly, and watch the half-known
girl in the mirror say the words in time with me. "Curly on the
ends. With layers - like this." If I put the mirror aside and
never look into it again - well, not until my term is over, -
I can pretend my hair is still the way I like it best, just the
way it was before my final transformation into a reformatory girl.

"Well, at least you didn't have longest braids it'd taken years
to grow," says the roommate. "Come on, Blackmore, cheer up. It's
not the worst thing that could happen, you know. It's a haircut,
not a, I dunno, a tattoo or something."

"What a relief," I'm still staring at the open-faced, terrified
mirror girl. I almost say I'd have rather gone for a tattoo
across my forehead, as long as I could keep my long fringe to
cover it.

I had to sit still for the haircut minutes after the headmaster
nearly beat the stuffing out of me with his cane and a two-
tailed belt at my induction interview. It hurt to sit still,
and it hurt to move, and it hurt to _be_, and I saw what used
to be my hair fall to the floor as the scissors squeaked. Not
the worst thing that could happen, my roommate was right. I'd
survived kindly police officers, and the shame of my trial,
and my first reformatory beating, so tell me, how horrible
can getting shorn be in comparison?

How awful can it be, to made look exactly like a couple of
hundred other girls, all dressed in navy and white, all wearing
purple cane marks under their skirts, all with their hair cut
very short by the very same person, every external expression
of personality taken away?

"Rumour is," says Lisa, "your hair has to be just short enough
that if a teacher wanted to grab your ear easily, he could. Hey,
will you stop staring at yourself in that mirror? It's lights
out in a minute. Believe me, you'd _better_ get all the sleep
you can. And hey. The place is the terriblest hole in the world,
but at least you've got a decent enough roommate. Count your
blessings, my child."

She grins. I smile back; the smile tastes bitter.

"Goodnight, and pleased to make your acquaintance," says Lisa
ceremoniously, and dives under her quilt like a mermaid.

I make a face at the shorn mirror-girl, and then I get under
the covers and sleep, hands on my aching behind. I dream of
the day I look in the mirror and see myself again.

THE END
Copyright by Haron, 2002-2004. This story is mine, and don't
you dare take it without permission, or I'll come to haunt you.
No, it's not public domain, it's mine, OK?