Day 608

It's been months since you've seen your face and longer since you went outside the room.
Your only light is coming from a candle and you write the timeline down with pencil and paper.
Nothing reflective is in the room.
If you can't see yourself then you can't become any worse, right?

Your reflection changed slowly, starting with the smallest of reflective objects.
In glass bottles your face seemed so much lumpier and no matter their colour your skin was green.
It soon moved onto door handles where your hands had too many digits and left faint red stains.
Even cutlery reflected something that was both you and someone else.

The glass windows you walk past showed it the clearest.
It walked half slumped, like it was being propped up b a stick and dragged along.
No matter what surface it was reflected on it was always looking at you with glassy yellow eyes.
It was heading closer to you.

The last time you saw it was in your bathroom mirror, pressed tightly against the glass.
Every breath it took fogged up the surface around it's slack, toothless mouth.
After that you hid away, tossed anything remotely reflective into the back garden.
Smashed all the windows for safe measure and nailed sheets of canvas to keep the cold out.

When the wind doesn't blow you can hear the broken, shiny objects outside shift about.
Like something is shifting them.
Peering past a canvas window-cover you caught a glimpse of a figure made of glass shards.
It was walking to the gaping hole where your glass back door was, glassy eyes fixed on you still.