Everyday (or every week, I haven't quite decided yet) I'm going to post a little story. It might be complete, it might be a tidbit, or it might be a whole long thing. This first time I'm going to post a rather short piece I did as an exercize, mostly just because it's all I have on this computer. Not very good quality writing for me, but meh. Enjoy.

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It is an intriguing yet often irksome thing to never be oneself- to always be a reflection of another. Too plain am I to constitute an identity, thus I seek the vision of a thing greater than myself. Such is my way. Without purpose, without hope, I show others their superficial and corporeal form. I’ve seen many a thing in my glass surface, a face and a shirt and a tip tapping tap shoe. If I am lucky, and fate’s beauty shines upon me, an item of glamour flatters me: a clean-cut suit coat, a silver watch, a pretty jewel. My existence is often a wait for an item of that sensational sort. To think that I could ever look so very glitzy as when a bow tie gleans my surface. The very thought makes me shiver in my frame. I know what you think- yes, I know, do not attempt to hide it. You think I’m conceited, self-centered, vain. I must confess I’m guilty of it all. But do you blame me? I do believe it’s our kind’s nature, a hereditary trait call it. And oh, I’m very sorry, but I mustn’t tell more. A man has walked into my midst, and he has yet to realize my true depth. If a human so close knew my potential, knew my reaches, it would surely be disastrous.