Marjorie had been eating her sandwich in the far corner stall of the girls' room. She heard the Clique walk in, chattering and smoking their menthols. They had been talking about that girl, what was her name, the fat one who had hung herself with a knit scarf. Marjorie knew her name, but she remained silent and continued eating her sandwich.
The dead girl didn't leave a note, but high school kids like to talk. Soon random stories and theories floated all over the place. Some say that it was her overly-religious father who did it. He took her out and made it look like a suicide.
Others said it was a kink thing, auto-asphyxiation, like the way the lead singer of INXS accidentally offed himself. One of the Clique claimed it was over a boy who broke her heart.
The other girls laughed. One of them said, "Like that fat bitch could get a man." High fives exchanged. They finally left, and Marjorie threw her unfinished sandwich down the toilet.
Marjorie knew the real story about the dead girl. She had really killed herself, but she had cut her own throat with a piece of broken glass. There had been so much blood that the family had decided rather than clean the dried blood off the carpet and walls. Marjorie knew this because she lived next door to the dead girl.
She didn't know about one detail that never made it outside the house. The dead girl had been found naked in front of an antique mirror. Blood had splashed everywhere, except on the mirror. That had remained spotless.
When the family left, they donated most of their belongings to charity. Marjorie's mother snagged a few of the heavier items like a leather sofa set and a few antique items. Marjorie thought it was creepy to use a dead girl's items, but she kept the mirror. For some reason, she felt drawn to it.
Life went on. Marjorie finished high school as the invisible girl. Plain brown hair, pale skin, glasses, dark clothing. She never talked to anyone, only spoken when spoken to. Only the teachers ever spoke to her. She remained anonymous until her adulthood.
At 27, Marjorie lived a regular life. A regular office job, a regular studio apartment, a regular schedule. Get up, go to work for 8 hours, come home, fix a meal, watch re-runs or read, then bedtime. The only thing missing was friends. She had never been good at making friends, so she stopped trying. She didn't mind being alone. That's what she told anyone who tried to initiate conversation with her. She didn't want pity friends, so she settled for no friends at all.
It was autumn, Marjorie's favorite time of year when she could bundle herself in thick sweaters and wool hats. Halloween was still a few months away. All the stores were already pimping their bags of miniature candies. Marjorie had bought two bags on the way home, even though she didn't live in a neighborhood that encouraged trick-or-treaters.
It was late, but Marjorie needed to do one more thing before bedtime. It was just a simple ritual that made her sleep better. She did it for the same reason that some people prayed before bedtime. She rolled her full-length mirror out of the closet. She stood before it and took off her clothes. She removed her bra and panties and studied her reflection. She ran her hands over her breasts, down her stomach, on her clit. She felt herself becoming wet. Blood flowed into her pussy; she could sense the heat in her loins. She started to touch herself. She rubbed her clit and slid her middle finger into her pussy. When she came, she pressed her body against the mirror.
She peered into the mirror as if she was looking for something. She had kept the mirror for the past ten years. She called it the pretty mirror, because the reflection was always flattering. She had always been the plain jane in high school. She was the perpetual wallflower, blending into the background.
When she first looked into the mirror, she discovered her beauty: the lines of her neck flowing to her soft breasts, her stomach, curving towards ample hips, her supple ass. It was like magic, as if a curtain had been removed from her eyes. She didn't know how the mirror did this, but she liked it.
When she stood in front of that mirror, she felt like a different person. With the mirror, she couldn't stop looking at herself. She wanted to expose herself, touch her soft skin, enjoy the velvety feel of her pussy.
Life went on. Marjorie worked, paid her bills, and lived her regular life. Every night she disrobed in front of her mirror and fucked herself. She never needed a man, but she needed this satisfaction. She needed the attention, the affection, the craving.
