I.R. Patterson

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The Monster

My breathing hitched and my heart sped up. This object shows me a monster, one which I do not wish to see. The monster the object shows me, growled a low rumble, like it was speaking to me. I see the many scars and blemishes on the monster, all of it's flaws. I look again, but I see something different, in their eyes. Anger, guilt, hurt, betrayal, sadness, self-loathing. For once, I feel bad for the monster and it's flaws. They actually seem sorta sweet, and ever so friendly. I get mad at the object for convincing me to think so low of the monster. I curse and punch the object out of frustration. The mirror shatters.
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