The Man In The Mirror | Six | Chris Kelso


The kid was alive and didn’t look zombified or even affected by the waves of radiation swirling around his head. He’d seen me touch the woman. My face went flush red. He grinned and again it felt as if he’d won something, somehow. Did he know I was responsible for killing his parents? I stared him right in the fucking eye and he gave as good as he got with deep, soul boring eye contact.

– You’re a fucking freak, huh? He said, spitting out a wad of pink gum onto the lawn. He resumed his awful grimace. I didn’t know what to say to him. What could I say?

– I’ve kept an eye on you feller. I knew you were fuck’d in the head.

I was paralysed by something. I thought that when I got my chance to kill this little fuck I’d grab the opportunity with both hands. But now I’m here and I’ve got the chance, I don’t know what to do, you know? Where’s the quick deceit that helped get the better of those other two crimson sphere hicks? No, there was something about this boy. His tormenting had gone on for too long that my mind went blank. He had a strange power over me, as all great bullies do over their quarry. If he told me to suck his dick, I’m afraid to admit I’d probably comply.

I was scared of this kid. The way horror movie villains scare you when you were young and not ready to see ruthless evil in motion. His hair was long, bright blonde and floppy at the fringe like a slice of wet pizza. I could tell it was him though. The boy had vicious acne, ruining a once perfect ashen complexion. A peculiar red sky sent its light onto the town, giving the ugly kid an eminent hellish glow. He moved towards me and I instinctively took a bigger step back. He rummaged around in the largest of his denim pockets and I half expected him to pulls out an AK47 or a Kalashnikov – but, to my surprise and relief, the kid brings out a video game cartridge. He gestured with his head to follow him into the house. Dumbstruck, I did what I was told.


When I entered the main living room I smelled the same fetid odour of stagnant corpses. I saw chow mien boxes everywhere and the reek of old takeout. I saw leeches strung up on dangling hooks, guts opened and spilling out. I heard the kid playing around with cables. He knelt on the carpet to plug in a games console, an old one (Megadrive I think?).

The boy connected two controllers and shoved the cartridge in. I could tell by the SEGA singing coir that it was a Megadrive.

I used to have one of these, when archaic consoles made a comeback in the early third millennium.

The kid had perched himself on the edge of the sofa and glanced at the empty space beside him, then at me, intimating that I should be seated there. I sit, far from reluctantly. He passed me a controller.

– What the fuck’s going on? I ask him

– Don’t you want to play?

I did.

– Why weren’t you affected by the toxic gas?

He stared at me, puzzled.

– What?

– The nuclear gas that turned the town into zombies!

His face of bewilderment didn’t lift and he sent the controller clattering to the floor, standing up all confrontational like. I stand up to meet him but instantly regret it. I met him at chin level, a foam of drool slobbering over his tiny chin.

– You’re fucking ill in the head.

– What are you…?

– A guy tries to be nice, tries to help out a fuck’n guy and he starts goin’ stir crazy. Well, fuck you.

His aggressiveness dropped me onto the previously offered space on his sofa. The boy moved out of the living room and I heard him tear open the fridge door and yank out a carton of milk. He popped his head round the corner

– You got something against the Megadrive or something, huh?

– No, I love the Megadrive!

His head disappeared back round the corner and I heard loud glugging sounds as the clotted milk travelled down his gullet.

– You like music?

– Yes…

I heard a CD player change discs and Spasticus Autisticus comes on which I take, at first, to be some juvenile effort to offend me but I see the kid dancing around and I can tell he actually likes Ian Dury. He pushed a button and skipped a track. When the chorus screeches HIT ME he points at me and mimes the lyrics.

– I don’t even know your name, I shout above the music.

– It’s Mack.

– I’m Billy.

He flicked off the music and began removing his shoes.

– What are you doing?

He doesn’t reply. Mack slipped off his socks to reveal feet cast in rough elephant skin, bunions on the flat and heavily calloused at the heel. To my shock, Mack didn’t stop at baring his toes. He unbuckled his belt and wriggled a leg out the trouser leg.

– Hey, what are you doing?

Should I be forgiving this kid, after what he’d done to me and my crew, my friends? I guess Gil Scot Heron once said – if we meet someone who hasn’t made a mistake, let’s help them start a religion.

He looked at me like an artist in search of the sublime.

Mack grinned again. There was something in his eyes that I recognised, something that hinted at a kid who’d seen too much in his time. The jeans dropped to his ankles and he started to pull down his y’s (protruding a little at the crotch). Now he was standing in front of me with a smug face like a cat that’s just slaughtered a pregnant mouse and dragged it home as an offering for its owner. His penis was probably a decent size. I remember being distinctly unimpressed, anyway.

– Your turn…

He looked at me expectantly.

– So, why are you naked?

– Aren’t y’all into this?

– What’d you mean “Am I into this”?

Mack thought he knew me. Just cos I felt up a corpse or two he thought he’d got me sussed. I avoided his cock the best I could. I couldn’t look it in the eye. Though, I couldn’t deny I was unbelievably flattered. This was a definite milestone in my own sexual conquest – a living organism offering themselves to me. The kid had given himself up in a very brazen way, which was much easier for me to get on board with, compared to employing foreplay (which is even more foreign a concept to me than penetrative sex). I allowed myself a glance at his cock. He knew I was considering whatever it was he was trying to propose.

– Get those bloody rags off boy.

– I’ve got some girls clothes. Shall I try them on for you?

Mack was noticeably pleased for my cooperation. He emitted all the correct erotic energy required of a sexually dominant male. This wasn’t how I saw my day going…


There are three sides to every story – yours, mine and the truth.

Whenever I pictured freedom, I imagined jumping naked across the narrow rooftops to chase birds, swimming in canals for fish, raiding a wine shop for its liquor. Freedom of the alien town gave me something a little bit different.

Mack had somehow convinced me to take off my clothes. I was shaking, the feeling of someone’s eyes upon you when you’re naked is sobering and terrifying. Mac held my hands with the palm facing the ceiling then turned over each of my fingers to scrutinise my nail-less tips.

– Gee-ma-nee man. What’s happening to you?

– I don’t know.

He shoved two fingers into my mouth and felt around the bald gum.

– You got a wasting disease or something?

– I don’t think so…

– You’re falling apart man, sh-e-i-t.

He pulled a mirror across and sat it in front of me. This was unforgivable.

I remember thinking Mack is truly evil. He must be. I have never looked into mirrors, not really. My first reaction was to avert my gaze and jump away and hide. But when I lifted up my head to admit the grotesque, legless creature standing before me, I was amazed to find that he’s not there. I saw in the mirror, a naked middle aged man’s portrait. He was 5ft something and filled most of the large glass frame. He had messy flex blonde hair and wasn’t all that hideous. He wasn’t attractive but not hideous. I turned behind me, expecting to see the real man who snuck into view but there was no one. In the mirror, the man had sad eyes and deep furrows around his mouth but not hideously so. The contours of his skin were rough and weathered but not hideous.

– Look at the mess on your nails, son. Mack said.

The man in the mirror grinned and I felt my face contort into a similar shape. The absence of teeth was hideous however. But when the mouth shut, the man appeared much less offensive. He was like an ordinary man with poor dental hygiene.

– What’s the matter with you? Why are ya smiling?

I knew Mack was talking but I could only hear distant muffles from a flapping mouth. Did something happen when I escaped the wreckage? Was I killed then re-born? Suddenly I felt a hand tug at my penis. Mack came into view beside me. Standing in profile together, side by side in the mirror’s face I see, to my great consternation, that Mack’s penis actually is much larger than mine. My penis has a new identity, it feels vital somehow. It had never felt vital before. I suppose in a funny sort of way that was a relief.

– I saw a dead person once, blood all over their face.

He put his hand up to his own face and wriggled his fingers down it to illustrate the trickle of blood. I don’t reply. I’d suddenly lost the habit of speech. Mack is much broader than I am, but the stranger facing me is such a welcome figure. I don’t recognise him, but I guess he must be me?

Mack started yanking my balls, obviously impressed by their size. He grabbed my hand and placed it on his cock. I moved my hand up and down. He moaned and seemed to enjoy it. I had no idea how this happened. This felt like a dream, a nightmare (no, a dream). We watched closely while masturbating each other in the mirror. I couldn’t believe my body, my legs. All in proportion. This must be a dream…

Must be…


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