She stared hard at the table as she tried to recall her attacker, and began    describing. 

I think, I think her hair was black.

I think, I think her eyes were green.

I think, I think she walked with a sort of limp.

Ma’am. I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’re describing yourself.


He walked out of the room, and came back with a handheld mirror.

She looked.

She studied the reflection she saw through the cracked glass.

He was right. But how?

How could it be her.


How could it be me?

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