The Mirror Boy
for Sam, again Mirrors were not only mirrors; his reflection in them seemed like confirmation of identity and mere existence. Without a mirror he wouldn't have any proof that he really was alive. The kids who passed him at the corridors looked straight through him, not acknowledging his presence with even a blink; he started to feel like a ghost, and only glassy surfaces in the training room seemed to assure him that his physical self was still there, more or less intact. And then, one day, the mirrors were gone. He no longer could see his face or his eyes; he still saw his arms and legs when he looked down, but was not sure anymore of what his face was like. Was his nose small and perky or big and aquiline? What about his eyes, what colour were they? His chin, was it pointy or soft and rounded? And his mouth? All those details slipped from his memory so fast, because he learned to rely on the mirrors to hold them for him. Without the mirrors, and without any form of contact