It was early August when the heatwave finally caved and gave way to rain. The days were now dulled by rain, rain which pounded insistently on each of the windows of the house, adamant to pool around my feet. When I wouldn’t open the doors, it instead made rivers across the garden – mercurial drops feeding the lake, the almost drowning-place growing larger. I wanted to run across the lawn and look at my reflection, modern day Narcissus carved and grey.
The mirror on the wall in the living room projected my face, flat and strained. I knew it what me who stared out, but couldn’t quite connect my movements with the movements in the frame. The she in the mirror was an imposter, first smiling, then frowning, two seconds delay, two seconds behind.