''Perceptive'' ''You may say that you're alone,'' a voice says behind me, ''but you're lonely together.'' A familiar silver paw rested against my shoulder, as it always had for the past few months, every time this occurred. Every time that I couldn't help but silently weep, with the only people to listen being the only ones I truly know. And I only dare to cry in front of them, for they cry as well. With me. Silence ate the room again shortly afterward, and I've been trying to kill it of hunger by speaking. Speaking with the only ones I really can talk to: Them. The ticking sounds a clock makes is only as loud as the silence it breaks. Resting against the edge of a table, I hope to use it to help kill the silence in my room as well. Talking's not as easily done when someone else isn't actually there to speak to. An old mirror; if not, a little dusty. Cold glass set upon a wall of stone, using what I have to give myself something to stare into. A blank stare, for instance, of the dead, subtly red eyes now seen within it, the mirror's image never changing until I gave it something else to show me. And until it eventually did change, there would be only the pale face of a pair of eyes trying to bleed its image into itself, pupils dilated, with heavy gray bags underneath. The audible flow of time becoming that much more deaf to me as time passes, and passes. Honestly, I never thought I'd find myself staring at it for so long, sitting upon a chair, a lone chair, eyes diving directly into the image presented by the mirror itself. ''Don't tell me that everything's going to be okay,'' I spoke to the ethereal bipedal fox who was too busy wiping its eyes of tears. ''Because the last time you told me that, it didn't get any better.'' ''Please,'' the spirit, almost phantom-like entity turned over to face me, its eyes now staring directly into mine with apparent worry. It's as tired as I am. Despite that, it threw it arms into the air, pointy ears flying straight up, almost pleading. There's a choke, a crack in its voice that cannot be denied when heard. ''I'm only trying to help!'' I knew that enough was true, otherwise, why would this being suddenly emerge before me? I've known it for so long though, only about two months or whatnot, yet I've already given its kind a name; I call it a ''Conscience.'' ''I understand that I'm no help sometimes, but that doesn't prevent me from trying, does it?'' The echo of plea was slightly lowered now, as was the ears. It flicked its whiskers at me, denoting that it's trying to calm down. I knew that. I've been with this thing long enough to figure that much out, even if most the rest was a mystery -- these creatures, they're like walking and talking enigmas; you think you know them one day, but at that same moment they switch around on you, and then you keep trying to figure them out, until you ask so many questions that eventually you don't even feel the need to anymore. The fox floated a bit to the other side of me, folded it arms nonchalantly as it stood itself against the stone wall. It sighed, looked to the ceiling for a few seconds, then just smiled at me. Out of nowhere, really. But, at the same time, not. It always does this, only in different ways each time. ''When you enter a room, dying to be alone,'' it began, blinking its eyes once, ''do you ever check the ceiling?'' The Conscience just sounds . . . content. Calm, a low whisper in his voice, with a sort of echo as he spoke, fading away as his aura does when he moves. The Silver Fox Conscience. Sapphire eyes glowing with a vibrant cyan aura that falters like a flame when mobile, reaching somewhere, then disappearing. Sleek fur of silver with markings of black, he's painted like a type of Japanese calligraphic painting. Tail dipped with ink, he waves over to anyone and everyone with a calm paw; a sort of way where he'd wave it at you, welcoming all he meets to everything he is . . . for he'd sacrifice anything for a stranger. Tail dipped in ink, silver and black paw waving at you, with a sense of belonging in every subtle move he makes. A smile on his face, almost. But, too . . . overwhelmed by something else entirely to truly notice. Sapphire eyes shining, appreciating your sheer existence before he even knows your name. Oh God, why does this one only have to be one of the many of them within me? It's the strangest thing, I swear . . . what are these people that keep seeing? But, the questions, they tire me. God, I just hate it -- why do they keep appearing? It's a different one every time, but this fox . . . he's appeared more than any other. For what reason? What does he want from me? It wasn't until then that I decided to just get up from the chair I'd been sitting on, and turn around to see if the fox would still be there when I turn away from the mirror. But, just as I suspected, he's still lying there on the wall, not even part of the mirror's reflection anymore. Typical. This happened last time. ''I hate to see you this miserable,'' he told me, reaching his paw to me. And of course I knocked it away -- I didn't want to hear anything else he said. ''So why do you allow it, then?'' I shouted. I saw him flinch slightly, but only for an instant. He then just held his paw near his muzzle, as if he was about to say something, but then just left it there, his palm in my face, as he dipped his head to the concrete floor beneath; apologizing, I guess. This always happened anytime one of them shared their existence with me -- we could never agree on anything. And then we eventually wouldn't shout anymore, but by that time . . . silence was no longer hungry. Silence, by then, would have consumed the entire room whole. It never felt fair, though -- how I'd just treat them like dirt sometimes. Thrown and used to bury other, more important things, into the ground. Because that where dirt existed: the ground. Everyone walks on it, but you never see anyone bother to even think about how they trampled over the very beings that let them stand at all. And whose fault is it really, if they're all treated this way by me? As far as I'm concerned, they only exist in my head -- my head! Who am I actually hurting if the only thing I'm damaging is the very things that are doomed to be buried eventually? Just like dirt. The tool we use to bury more significant things into the soil. ''But don't worry, you'll be part of the earth one day...'' The fox spoke after several eternities. I couldn't help but retort -- what else was I to do? ''And then what? I already know that no one ever is destined for anything but that time, that one time when they deteriorate from this world -- and then, and then. . .'' I didn't really feel like saying the last part, but my body started shaking like mad all the sudden, so I just did. ''Then, after you're gone, people will start to forget you as well. Every, last, thing anyone currently living now has ever done will die sooner or later. Twice.'' I stared at the mirror again. No surprise that I saw a shivering little kid, weeping over nothing. ''But that's not until a long time, and you know that.'' The sapphire in the fox's eyes still shined, it had to. What else was it to do? It's voice was still solemn, but far from monotone, just as it was when I first heard him speak. I didn't like this fox, and how he tried to make me feel so happy. Do I look like I want to feel happy? The mirror didn't show me that, so it couldn't have been true . . . it never was, really. I hated this fox, and how he always felt he had to remind me of how broken I was -- he didn't need to keep showing up to keep reminding me how I should fix myself, so I could be a bit more delighted with how life is; what it is, and how it affects people. How the people you meet have the ability to completely change you, how time is almost a deadline -- but how much of one does it have to be? I hate this fox. I hate him. I hate him for how right he really is. So, then, I broke the mirror. What else was I to do? I took my bare fist and planted it into the image, into that putrid being that just stood there, never changing until its reflection did. My hand trembled as the drops of blood fell to the ground, and I screamed, my skin being torn by the newly born shards of glass. Flying -- they all kept flying. From the shattered hole placed by the impact, I took my other hand and broke off more pieces of the mirror, cutting my palms from their sharp edges and puncturing my feet from the pieces on the ground. From there, from here, I continued to bleed. Silence died of hunger, as the echo of my wails devoured the room, and it wouldn't stop -- I couldn't stop. I've had it with this mirror -- with the things it shows me; the way that it's mostly now become all of these visitations from the creatures of my mind, my consciousness bleeding out to enter from their existence to mine -- I don't want them here anymore. I don't want them to exist anymore. I kept shattering the mirror, breaking its shards into even smaller ones, until their size was so insignificant that the thing on my wall that once was a mirror couldn't even be identified as one. I winced with pain every time I stepped onto another shard, a piece that dares to harm me. How dare it tries to . . . and how dare I keep going despite the pain. . . . It wasn't until later, until after I too busy cowering; until a bit later, after shivering of this seemingly eternal anxiety and pain and suffering every time I was forced to pull the many shards of glass out of my bare feet, causing me to whimper when I see the blood crawl down to the edge of them, and descend to the floor . . . perhaps it wasn't until the end of those many moments, wasting them on the ground in fetal position, that I took the time to notice that the fox was present the entire time. And didn't even help at all. How thoughtful of you, to just let me impale myself with the countless shards of glass on the ground that I created -- why did you let me?! What's wrong with you? Why didn't you stop me? The fox was lying on the opposite side of the room, breathing very slowly. He couldn’t help but be terrified, I knew it. Ears flat on his head, fur disorganized after being brutally brushed by a type of fear, his blue eyes shimmering with the swelling tears upon them . . . just witnessing. Not staring. Just witnessing an act which I knew he'd never be able to forget -- that he'd never be able to attempt to even try to forget. I swear he didn't blink until hours later, his arms just lying limp against the sides of his body, tail not even bothering to wag. And directly after that, he did nothing but blink again, shiver quite a bit, clutch his stomach, and cower silently in the nearest corner of the room, dry heaving. Making these awful noises as he faltered to the ground; first trying to keep himself up with one paw, but obviously, to no avail, as his body slammed to the only part of the room not covered in glass shards. His paws still over his stomach, and I see him doing all he could to prevent himself from vomiting. Just lying there on the floor. Although, it wasn't until I turned my eyes the floor again that I realized what he was looking into: the many, unfortunately many drops, blotches, splatters, and whatever else it appeared to be, of blood haphazardly shed by the mirror shards ruthlessly torn away from each other by my bear hands. The sickening part was that it made a trail, that went all the way over to where I was now. A thick, crimson trail made up of the random amounts of red on the floor. I remember limping over to the corner of the room I could reach the soonest, so I could pinch the shards of glass from my arms, legs, feet and so on. I just never knew how much blood I'd actually lost. No wonder I feel so light-headed right now. I must have lost a lot of blood. Hemorrhaging to this extent was something I'd never experienced before, so maybe I did black out after attacking the mirror. No wonder I can't even move right now. God, I can see it still dripping from all over the place on my body, and my legs feel completely absent all of the sudden. I attempted to turn my hand over to pick out the larger shard that impaled it before, but it shook so much I couldn’t even get halfway there. I have to close one of my eyes since the blood from my forehead is trailing down it, replacing the usual tears. Please . . . just make it stop. I'm sorry, okay. I swear I am. Just please, don't make this hurt anymore... . . . ''I can hear your thoughts. I hope you know that.'' I saw the silver fox reach out his paw to me. He wasn't over in his corner trying not to puke or anything; he was here. And he wanted to help me. ''And, n-no, I'm sorry. You couldn't hear me over the s-sound of your screaming . . . it was just, too loud. I warned you, I really, really tried to. I'm so sorry I let this happen to you.'' He was just standing there, right on top of the shards, but they didn’t cause him any pain. ''I’m slightly intangible, remember? I can't touch physical objects,'' he told me. He kept responding to my every thought, one right after the other. He could truly hear me. ''This isn’t your fault, y'know.'' How is that? ''Because, it's not entirely bad . . . what you've done.'' I don't get it -- what do you mean?! ''Look over here.'' He pointed to the abundance of glass shards all over the floor. I still didn't understand. ''Tell me,'' he said, his tail wagging behind him like a metronome. ''Tell me what you see in that reflection.'' I couldn't see anything, really -- there were so many pieces scattered and shattered so far apart from each other that you weren't able to piece together a full image, or even a fraction of an image's part. None of the pieces appeared that they'd even fit together. ''Tell me,'' the fox said again, ''is there any other way you could have broken this mirror?'' Well, I suppose there could have been -- surely just using the chair to break it would have been an option, yet it wasn’t one that came to mind when I actually began to destroy the very thing that made the mirror, a mirror. ''Want to know what I think?'' I just nodded my head in agreement, sorta. I tried to, at least. I was spilled upon the floor, really. ''I think there is no other way you could be broken. Those shards, their shape was created by you, right? And, altogether, they all represent one thing.'' The entire image... ''Exactly.'' . . . ''Whenever you try to whisper, do you ever scream? And if you ever scream, do you still whisper?'' The fox said to the person lying on the ground, who couldn't help but fall into yet another stupor -- yet another trance to unconsciousness, closing his eyes with the fox's voice, the fox's question, reverberating in his mind... When the person opened them again, the fox was gone. He couldn't see him anywhere. He was already too weak to even try to look around, so he didn't even bother. Yet . . . something swelled inside him. Something that he never thought of yet to do. He went over to the shards of glass, numb was the pain to him now -- he's gotten used to it at this point. In spite of his impaired vision, he lunged myself towards the shards, almost landing his arms on quite a few of them. With his hands, the hands that he could hardly see, the hands that were dry of blood, staining his skin a different color; with those hands he tried to do something he knew he couldn't: he attempted to fix the mirror. One by one, piece by piece, he gathered the shards and placed them together, failing more often than not, as his vision began to grow that much more dull. His breathing became a losing struggle for air, as his every breath stuttered heavily, becoming the loudest noise in the room. Still, he lied there for a few moments, just trying -- just barely being able to reach for that next piece, that next shard that he hopes, that he prays fits with the last one he picked up. And he kept going. It was too late to stop now. And don't don't, no don't stop trying . . . because it's the only thing that kept him from dying. The inevitability that possibly came too soon. Yet, just before he ran out of breath, just before his heart could no longer pump enough blood to keep the rest of his life going (due to the severe lack of it), he formed a small shape out of the mirror shards, roughly the size of a tattered playing card. He was able to fit three large pieces together, just enough to reveal the image of his face. The tethered, ghostly pale face that was as shattered as the mirror was currently. His eyes, almost entirely covered by his eyelids, ones stained to the darkest red and forced to close. The deafening noise of him coughing up blood, after his screaming caused him to choke on a few shards he broke -- never again would he breathe the same. The siren was wailing that day. Death was calling, and he could not refuse to answer. Even the astral being who could try to take his pain away by making him believe otherwise couldn't save him now. By default. By default he tried to live. And by default he was a victim of a shade of pain. Diluted, strained was his life to the point it was so thin, crippled, and worthless that it'd be better to end it than to suffer. With everyone's mirror being broken at birth . . . yet that mirror -- his mirror -- it can broken in that specific way only once. And the other, the being who tried to help him; what good was he, if he was not an actual person to prevent him from early death? But what else was he to do, with no one else around but the other shards of himself? The person lying there gathered the three shards, stared at the image presented for only a few seconds, and said nothing as his breath let go, his body crouched over on the floor, and abruptly collapsed -- the shards simply falling back onto the ground, tumbling away from the limp figure. From his mouth crept a line of red, trailing down to the cold floor beneath. Ending, finally ending the reflection that was -- for within the mirror’s image that last time, just before his collapse, reflected the person's smile. The small grin, even if bloodied and subtle, was enough of a smile for the silver fox to return to his friend, to clutch his paws over his freezing shoulders, soundlessly crying yet shaking him savagely. Faltering to the ground, the fox dived to his knees, almost screaming, ''I'm sorry.'' His reflection inevitably fading into what it always was, the mirror shards beside the body now revealed the image of a blank wall on the other side of the room.