THE MIRROR'S SUICIDE

The mirror had been lovingly crafted by Tibetan monks who lived lives of purity, moderation, health and humility.  They liked to think wherever their work went, these values would be reflected.

The mirror found itself in a student bathroom reflecting Manky Franky wanking into the toilet.  After Laurence the Landlord would press his face to the mirror and squeeze his unruly zits until they erupted, then he’d wash his smug face, knowing he was ready to meet his mistress.  Helen his frumpy wife would simultaneously sit on the toilet, pushing out a number two while smoking a fag.  Later, Pervy Peter would slither in for his turn; he’d move aside the picture he’d hung up and check the hole he’d drilled so he could see into Laurence’s bedroom was unblocked, then he’d scrape the dry skin off his feet with a pumice stone.  Last into the bathroom was Lovely Lisa.  The mirror was reassured by the way she sprayed air freshener around and cleaned up.  There was something of the monastery about her – purity and humility.

When Helen was at work, Laurence’s mistress Marlene would arrive and Peter would come straight to the bathroom and stand, eye pressed against the hole in the wall, watching Laurence beating Marlene’s bare backside with a paddle.  “Classic,” he’d whisper, while pleasuring himself.

At the end of one of these vile days was a party.  Laurence smugly checked out his reflection – wife and mistress both present at same event.  Lovely Lisa conscientiously cleaned the bathroom in preparation, dusting the mirror reverently.

Purity, moderation, health and humility didn’t make an appearance.  Instead there was excess, Manky Franky got drunk and vomited round the toilet.  Then drugs, Helen sat on the loo smoking crack.  Her husband knocking on the door roused her, she staggered and slipped, falling heavily, passing out, face in the remnants of Franky’s puke, pants round her ankles.

“Do you think she’ll notice?” Marlene asked as she and Laurence opened the door and saw her prone frame.
“No, let’s go!” cried Laurence, pushing Marlene into the bedroom for debauchery.

Peter slithered into the bathroom, stepping over Helen’s body and pressing his eye to the peephole.

“Peter!  What are you doing!” Purity had arrived, the Lovely Lisa.

“Look!” Peter ushered her to the hole in the wall.

She peered through it gasping; “Oh my!  I didn’t know you could ...”

Peter put his hand up Lisa’s skirt; “I can show you so much more, my dear.”

She turned to him; “Oh, Peter, you mustn’t, my boyfriend’s downstairs ...”, but she let him slide his thick tongue down her throat.  At their feet Helen stirred and moaned.

“She won’t wake up!  Don’t worry!” Peter flung Lisa against the wall, pushing up her skirt and unzipping.  The two began to fuck passionately against the tiles.

Lovely Lisa being defiled by that sleaze was too much for the mirror to bear.  Illusions broken, it longed for the monastery.  They all eventually went to bed, but the mirror knew it faced another morning of Manky Franky and the rest.  It couldn’t do this anymore.  Gradually it wriggled until it was at the edge of its fastenings, then it leapt from the wall and shattered with a deafening crash.  Seven years’ bad luck to them all and a curse upon their house of iniquity!