Broken Truths

My father always liked to remind me how I'd die in front of a mirror one day. I didn't always believe him, but I've always averted my gaze from my reflection because of it.

The first time he told me I'd die in front of a mirror, I'd been eight, and we'd had family over. I'd thought it was just some cruel joke. The rest of my family thought it was. His voice got low, and he leaned forward before telling me he saw me die in front of a mirror in a dream a few nights ago.

My mother just swatted at him while laughing, telling him not to go on about that stupid prophetic nonsense.

I managed to fake a childish laugh, but it shook me to my core.

Anytime he got mad after that, he made sure to remind me I'd die in front of a mirror.

I remember, when I was eleven, we were stuck in traffic and he got pissed at the people around him. So he reminded me. I didn't say a word the rest of the drive, and every time I glanced at the mirror I feared the last thing I'd see is the car behind us.

I managed to convince myself it was a lie, something to get me to stop being annoying. Like how parents tell you if you turn the lights you'd get pulled over?

But then it happened.

My dad died from a heart attack. It wrecked my mom and brother, but especially our mom. We couldn't mention getting a feeling of deja vu, visions, strange sensation, or it was certain you'd get yelled at. Rowan always told me those kind of things reminded her of dad.

But then the visions started.

I wish it didn’t.

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The first vision was a nightmare I’d had. It had been of Darwin, a barred owl that always hung out near our houses gate. We had a big property, about a hundred or so acres, and it was also fenced with gates. 

I dreamt that while walking to school, I saw Darwin, but not in a way any kid would want to. 

Darwin had been killed, his feather’s slick with blood, and left there, impaled, on the jagged fence. 

But of course, it was only a dream.

At least, that’s what I told myself…

On Monday, Rowan and I were walking to school, and just like in the dream, Darwin was there, hanging off the gate in a mess of feathers and blood. 

I wouldn’t go near that gate for a month.

I missed school for a week.

We buried Darwin by his favorite oak tree.

And we never told mom. She never really cared much about Darwin or visions.

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The visions that followed were all of minor things. Things people would say weeks in advance, a newspaper article a month in advance, even the neighbors truck breaking down, six months in advance.

Rowan always believed me when I told him. He was the only person I could tell. Our mom still got mad if I told her.

But Gideon kept writing which was nice of him. He gave me advice sometimes. I liked to think the moth that flew around the porch tells him how my day went.

I remember something Gideon wrote to me once. He had written, “Every prophecy comes with a price, and the toll on your sanity and soul will be paid in ways you cannot yet fathom.”

I try not to think about what he says when it involves prophecies.

I guess I take after my mother in that way. 

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The visions got worse when I turned thirteen. One vision in particular horrified me. I’d dreamt that Rowan had got in a car crash. I’d seen the glass littering the street like an angel’s tears, the other trucks lights blinding into my brother’s like some cruel heavenly lights. The last part of the dream I remember is seeing my brother, Rowan, unconscious in a flipped truck.

Then I had woken to my mother calling my name.

It was the first time I told my mother about the visions.

It wasn’t the first time she screamed at me to shut up about that stupid nonsense.

I remember being impressed that I didn’t cry on the way to the hospital.

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Minor concussion. A bruised rib. A fractured femur. The doctors said he’d probably need physical therapy for a few months and would likely have a hard time walking.

I remember having to leave when the doctor said that. I had to leave because mom kept giving me a look that said, ‘You and that stupid nonsense’. 

I cried in the bathroom. I spent a while in there, trying to calm myself down, but every time I glanced in the mirror all I heard was my father whispering, ‘Remember, Soren, if you don’t straight up, you'll find yourself staring into a mirror, watching your last breath fog the glass.’

I ended up sitting in the floor of the hall crying, unable to look in a mirror without imagining myself dead on the bathroom floor, watching my own lifeless eyes.

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Rowan took the physical therapy. Even after, he still used a cane to walk, just to ease some of the pain. I still felt bad, even a year after. He always seemed to notice when I’d get lost in my thoughts.

“It’s not your fault, Soren,” He would say.

“Dad would’ve known though…” I’d counter, not looking at him.

He kept trying to convince me it wasn’t my fault, but I knew if dad was still around, he’d have known. How could he have not know? He knows I’m going to one day die in front of a mirror. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a vision of Rowan getting in that car crash.

Mom probably told him it was ridiculous. That being able to see the future is all bullshit and he’s just a lying bastard.

I can only assume she liked to tell dad that.

She likes to tell me that too.

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Five years later I moved out. I didn’t have a house, I had a truck, and a very strange world plagued by prophetic visions and the occasional visit from Gideon. I drive down whatever road I get the urge to, I stop at any towns I decide to, and I doubt I’ll stop.

But it’s moments like right now, with my hands bleeding after scraping them on a gravel street, my own ragged breathing echoing in the now locked bathroom, and the sound of plastic meeting wood just outside that door.

I never thought I’d be stranded in a town full of mannequins that somehow keep moving each night.

But here I am, looking into my own, horrified, brown eyes in the cracked mirror before me.