NOTE: Something I'm writing for English class. Thought it would be a good idea to get some critiques in and make some (okay, A LOT) of edits before it gets graded. ^________^
Broken Mirror
Stupid mask, she thought, I hate you.
The female lieutenant stared at the cracked mirror, then at the mask, then placed the mask over her face and stared again. Pasty nothingness gazed back. Her mouth was dry. He would be dead, and no one could see her face – her features – on his body.
The mask flew across the lavatory and dropped with a clutter.
***
The lieutenant had a brother, younger by years. They had identical gray eyes and black hair, pallid skin and stub of a nose. When the other kids were solemn, they would stand at the edges and laugh, laughter mingling like silver bells singing in silent winds.
Then 2902 C.E came. Someone thought it would be a good day to die and the War started. The girl joined the army. When she walked out that door for the last time, she heard brother’s anguished cry. "Come back to me! I love you forever!"
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, brother; she thought, but I love this world too.
***
The captive had tried to run from the complex yesterday. Stupid, the lieutenant thought. No one escapes from the Moon. Nothing was here except this metal complex and a single space dock. Transport ships came once per month with supplies and new POWs - faceless, voiceless shapes in masks and black hoods, working meticulously at the factories until the lights went off and androids escorted them back to the barracks, where they waited for daybreak. The only way they left was through a body bag.
But he had tried to run, the Captain and an army of androids chasing behind. Jarring gunshots rioted, reverberating through the hallways and bypassing walls. Her eyes had snapped open and her body bolted upright. Bedding flew across the room as she burst out the doors. He darted past. She lunged.
He was huffing, out of breath. She was huffing, but she had him pinned down, a gun shoved against his neck, a hand pressing his face into metal ground.
The captive struggled and gurgled something unintelligible.
The lieutenant pressed harder, heard a crunch and felt sick. Running footsteps echoed and shadows loomed darkly behind. The Captain's beefy hands clasped around the boy's wrists and snapped on cuffs, and immediately she loosened her hold and pulled away. Then androids came, lugging the captive onto his feet.
The mask was broken, and she saw. They pulled a new mask over his face immediately after, and hauled him away like some animal.
"Good work, Lieutenant. Stupid prisoner, that. He's going to be dead," the Captain said, ruffling her already tousled hair. "But of course, got to confirm it with the bigwigs below, eh? Ha!"
She had seen his face.
***
The confirmation came like lightening, instantaneous through the holograms.
***
The tap was running. Water dripped down her face. The lieutenant still stared at the mirror; at her bloodshot eyes and limp hair. Her lips tasted like cruel salt. She thought she heard bells.
She talked to the Captain last night. He was sitting at a window, puffing away on bad cigar and gazing back at Earth. It was doubtful he saw much - he was not wearing glasses. The lieutenant – the woman went and plucked the stick out of his hands. "Don't smoke."
The forbearing male only laughed. "What? Worried I'd die or something? Go blind from all the smoke? Ha!"
Awkward silence permeated. She touched her eyes - no, not hers; a dead man's eyes. She would have been blind without his - or her - death and the team of doctors... and the governments, who started this war and took away her sight, but later gave it back again.
He petted her on the arms and drew her into a hug. She settled into his bloated form.
"Sore topic, huh? Sorry, girl." He laughed again. "Least you're recovering."
Silence; and then, "The boy's got my face."
"You dreamed it or something." The Captain spat onto the ground. "They don't got faces, them damned enemies."
"I saw." She pulled back and spanned to face him, willing him to believe. "My brother had my face."
He shrugged, laughed again. "Kid, you're... twenty-three? Twenty-four? Three years with the army? You don't have a brother no more. Me, I'm your mum. Soldiers are your brothers and sisters. Them bigwig down below are your gods and goddesses. No brother."
\No, no, you're wrong, she thought. I had - I have a brother, and he loves me. Tears leaked, but did not flow. She wiped her eyes on his uniform. He stiffened.
"And if you're right, so what?" He said, awkward.
"Can't you do something?"
"You loyal, kid?"
She nodded.
“Look, them bigwigs down there said he's got to go, so he's got to go. We're soldiers. We don't think, kid. We do. Leave the thinking to them."
The woman nodded again. But she could not stop thinking. It would be easier to not think, but I can't. I'm not their marionette. I'm not you. You didn't see. I did. He had my face. We had the same skin and nose and lips and ears. You can't obey them. You can't.
"Why are you here, girl? You hate them blood so much... Then why are you here?"
She looked away, and thought she heard silver bells.
I love the world, brother, but I love you too.
And she stood, saluted the Captain, and walked away, the cigar a mound of ash and paper beneath her feet.
***
Her fist plunged towards the mirror. If she stopped looking at it, maybe she could pretend she did not see the dark hair and pallid skin and stub of a nose, and the utter despair and then recognition and elation that flooded the boy captive’s face.
But her hand stopped in mid-plunge. This was the only mirror here.
The tap was still running. She turned away, burying her face in a musty towel, desperately questioning.
Why are you here, brother? Why did you follow me? You loved me more than I loved you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Forgive me. I'll make it right again.
The towel fell.
I'll make it right again.
The lieutenant unhinged the mirror from the wall, tucked it under her arms, and loped out the door and into the hallways. Her legs broke off into a flurry and she dashed across the halls, to the other side of the complex, to the silent execution grounds. The steel ground burnt. Those in her way parted like the ocean did for Moses. She had to make the Captain see. He would understand, once he saw. He had to.
The red door banged open and she bashed in across the giant of a room, skidding to a stop by the captive's side – the boy was kneeling, facing the wall. Her hands shook when she reached forward, removing the hood and the mask. The mirror found itself on the ground.
"What are you doing, girl?"
The Captain was standing three paces back, but moving forward. She had to make him see. Look, Captain, the boy has my face. Can't you stop? If you don't trust my eyes, can't you trust your own? And if you don't want to look, can't you look at our reflections?
She pulled the boy up, his eyes bewildered and despairing and recognizing. Her voice cracked. "He has my face. Look at him. Look."
"Enemies have no faces."
The Captain could see - he was wearing glasses. He was standing in front of them. So why would he not open his eyes and look? She held up the mirror, pulling the older man to look. "My face."
"He has no face." The Captain raised his gun. "Are you loyal?"
"Yes. Yes.”
"Then let me do my job."
There was stark graveness in his voice, and horrifying realization pierced like a bullet through her skull. The Captain whom she loved like a father, she no longer knew him.
Had she ever known him?
“I can't," the woman, the sister whispered. "I can't! My brother. My brother, following me to the battlefield." The mirror dropped, shattered, now laying broken and in pieces, but still reflecting. Brother chose the wrong side. He followed her but chose the wrong side, and that was all he did.
"You'll have to. We're soldiers. We obey orders."
She flung herself over the boy. On the floor, they trembled. She stared at the mirror pieces, at eyes hers and not hers. Jesus had died to save all men. Soldiers drove in the nails. Soldiers protected people. They did not shoot whom they protect.
"Then I'm not a soldier." Not your type of soldier.
There might have been tears in the Captain's eyes, but his glasses hid his eyes and the mirror would not say anything. He pulled the trigger. The man was not hesitant.
The brother buried his face in the sister’s chest. The sister thought she heard laughter and silver bells singing. The girl smiled. The woman smiled. The pieces of broken mirror shattered, a million perfect crystalline pieces fell, glistering silver of bells and red of blood.
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