Two Lies and a Truth

By Taruni Tangirala

two lies and a truth

i slurp on the vanity of superior 
beings in the lounge of contemplation;
a trifold of mirrors reflects three
different aspersions back at me. 
i see a centaur;
dressed in battle gear and a dunce cap,
ready to run away as soon as the battle 
horn sounds. next, i see a telly-tubby 
festooned with participation medals and 
an eye, exactly one eye, for shiny things.
last, i see a simple silhouette of myself. 
nothing’s there except for a facetious 
void; a black hole replete with black dust. 
suddenly, a vine grows out of the void and 
ivy grows all over the mirrors like ants on
a cookie crumb. succumbing to the pressure, 
the glass splinters into a mosaic, and a 
pastiche of my former self glowers at me
with the rage of a bull shark. then, her 
refulgent eyes twinkle like the millions of 
nocturnal suns that put us to sleep every night.
no, not twinkling; 
she winked at me 
such that no one else could see. 

Taruni is a writer from the Houston, Texas area. She has work forthcoming or published in SORTES Magazine and her work has been recognized by the National Women On Writing contest. In her free time, she enjoys watching movies such as Inception and The Imitation Game.