By Taruni Tangirala
two lies and a truth
i slurp on the vanity of superior beings in the lounge of contemplation; a trifold of mirrors reflects three different aspersions back at me. i see a centaur; dressed in battle gear and a dunce cap, ready to run away as soon as the battle horn sounds. next, i see a telly-tubby festooned with participation medals and an eye, exactly one eye, for shiny things. last, i see a simple silhouette of myself. nothing’s there except for a facetious void; a black hole replete with black dust. suddenly, a vine grows out of the void and ivy grows all over the mirrors like ants on a cookie crumb. succumbing to the pressure, the glass splinters into a mosaic, and a pastiche of my former self glowers at me with the rage of a bull shark. then, her refulgent eyes twinkle like the millions of nocturnal suns that put us to sleep every night. no, not twinkling; she winked at me such that no one else could see.
Taruni is a writer from the Houston, Texas area. She has work forthcoming or published in SORTES Magazine and her work has been recognized by the National Women On Writing contest. In her free time, she enjoys watching movies such as Inception and The Imitation Game.