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After any mission, Bruno always found himself in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection to see what became of him. It was usually the same set of images, but they all led to the same ending. His hands held the porcelain sink tightly, the knuckles of his hands white and pale as he held on for dear life. No one told him this would be his life; to sell his soul to save others.
He stared at a young boy with ocean blue eyes, scrappy little bugger with the most mischievous smirk, his button up half-assedly tucked in while his lip bled. The memories of times where he could run around on the playground, not worry about the world, and just live life the way it was intended.
The next image that showed up was a teenager, same ocean blue eyes, scruffy like before, but there was a sense of something there. Honor? Stoicism? He couldn’t tell, but the boy’s smile was muted, as though he were holding back. More memories of times when he had to maintain his bearing, promise his parents he wouldn’t get into more fights, and figure out what he wanted in life.
He broke eye contact first, staring down at the rose-colored water from the blood dripping down his face. He wasn’t sure he wanted to keep looking at the change. Something had to give, and eventually with bated breath, he looked up once more.
Same eyes, older bloke, but this time the man was in a full dress uniform, medals adorning his chest, name plate shining silver. The man was smiling fully, but something was off. The smile never reached the man’s eyes, but yet he kept it up. Why a facade? Memories of having to be the image of perfection in his units. The man that lived. The man that could take a mortar to the chest. The man with multiple lives. He was lucky.
Or cursed.
Before he knew it, he glanced down at the water again, the water redder than before. He glanced up, the ceiling dripping with blood, the panels showing signs that it would collapse from the flood. He felt his chest tighten, the scars from the mortar blast aching him once more, and he could barely breathe. He knew what was coming up. He was always able to know.
He looked back up to the mirror and came face to face with it.
It was him. Disheveled hair, ocean blue eyes that turned almost black, tears running down his face, blood matting his hair, and that smile. One that did reach his face. Each of the reflections stayed quiet, but this one didn’t.
“You love it. You love the chaos. You love putting people six feet under. Admit it. You’re a murderer. You don’t defend shit. You should die. That would make everyone’s life better.”
Bruno held his breath, unable to talk, unable to fight back, and unable to make the reflection go away. The walls bled, the ceiling bled, the floor was flooding with blood, and all he could do was drown in it as his reflection laughed. His hand moved before he could stop it, sending it into the mirror until the monster went away.
But he was still there. He always would be.