The Gift by Dheemarie

She excitedly squealed when she heard the chime of the doorbell.

Without hesitation, she opened the door and grabbed the ginormous package that the UPS guy sat on the door step.

Rushing to the back of the house where her bedroom was located—package in hand— she ventured into her favorite room of the house— the master closet, happily carrying the package, thinking the package seemed heavy for two shirts and a skirt, but she pushed that thought from her mind.

The closet was decorated like a fashion boutique in Milan with a Tuscan theme. The walls were a pale warm, toasty almond.  Skylight windows flooded sunshine into the space, making it a cheerful, pleasant place. The plush carpet was cream, and a dark cocoa colored dresser sat on the back wall. A second dresser sat on the opposite wall where fine jewelry, posh fragrances and unique belts were housed. Neatly folded sweaters were placed on shelves.

Clothing hung in immaculate rows on dark wood hangers. Off to the side of the closet was a full size mirror and a comfortable plush oversized chair with bronze and cream throw pillows, a leather ottoman, a beautiful full length mirror, and a small oval side table. This corner is where she sat in the mornings with her coffee sometimes. As a fashion blogger, she would sit in this same corner clipping images of the latest fashion from magazines or writing about the latest fashion tips in her blog.

She sat the highly anticipated package down by the table and headed downstairs to make a steamy vanilla latte before starting her creative projects for the day.

Heading back upstairs to her haven, she practically flew up the stairs taking two at a time.

Glancing in the full length mirror in her closet, with her latte in hand, she admired her petite, curvaceous frame. Her appearance was anything but average. She had the figure of a bronze, ethnic goddess. She was sheer perfection unlike those bag-o-bones deathly skinny model chicks. Hell, they are nasty skinny and who wants to resemble a pile of skeleton bones any way, she thought. Her stylish, elegant black and gold nightgown adhered to her 5’5″ curvy frame like static clings to its victims. It was easy to get lost in her slanted, mysterious dark brown eyes. Her lips were naturally plump and full, easily desirable. On her lips, she usually wore walnut a color by Maybelline because there’s nothing like Maybelline to enhance what she was already born with. Her skin tone was reminiscent of the color of a creamy cappuccino mixed with a hint of caramel. She cherished what she saw looking back at her with the exception of a few yellowish, old bruises.

Suddenly, and without warning, her reflection winked deviously at her as she stood there in front of the mirror. And, she immediately began to tremble uncontrollably with fear. WTF!!! I must be imagining things, she thought. “One too many lattes with too many shots of expresso, perhaps,” she mumbled to herself under her breath.

She continued trying to get her nerves in check, but, in the back of her mind, she kept thinking about the incident that occurred earlier with her reflection in the mirror.

She had a dinner party to attend later that evening, so she desperately needed to take a shower and set clothes and accessories out in an effort to decide on something to wear. Her husband would be coming home from work and would expect her to be ready.

She walked into the master bathroom to turn the shower on. She was quite busy and didn’t notice her reflection’s devious expression within the mirror.

After her long, hot shower, she wrapped herself up in an oversize beige towel, proceeding to the closet to set out a few clothing options. Looking at the bed, she noticed an imprint in the comforter that wasn’t there before she got into the shower, but she dismissed it quickly. Feeling as if someone were staring at her, she began to slowly back out of the closet, yet the sensation grew stronger. Hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and adrenaline raced through her veins. Something prickly grabbed at her ankle, and she screamed, a blood curdling scream. In the corner, her eyes glimpsed a grey hazy, shadowy figure. She froze with terror, but the darkened figure continued coming closer…..

It came into the light, and to her dismay, the hazy shadow was her reflection. The reflection held out a package to her, the same package she remembered from earlier that had been delivered by UPS.

She peeked into the beige square box, now ripped open and gasped.

Her husband’s severed head was inside the box in a pool of red goo.

“We are finally free of his abuse and his ridicule,” her reflection said convincingly while grinning blissfully.

“I did it for us! Remember, I am a part of you; we share the same bruises: mentally and physically. Your thoughts are my thoughts, and I know exactly what you felt every time he experienced one of his drunken rage-filled episodes,” the shadow said.

And with that, she grinned at her reflection—now back in the mirror—satisfactorily.

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