Through the fog, I stare at a stranger. I am covered, she is covered. We look at each other with the same distrustful expression on the face. Quiet, still, silent. The fog does not move; everything is frozen.
I approach her. She is serious, and looks much older than me. Thin face and arms, naked shoulders. Our eyes wide open. She has something that belongs to me.
I feel repulsed by her appearance and I move back, slowly. She stares at me, quietly. It seems like her expression has not changed one bit. Suddenly, she starts taking off her cover, as mine begins to slide.
It finally falls, and the scene shows a naked woman. Her mature body shows no infant roundness. The history of human race seems to be written in her skin. And her fertile belly shows the readiness to give life.
She stares at me, silently. Her breast reminds me of the sex and the children I never had and never wanted. I approach her again, I try to touch her...
That is when my hand meets the mirror.
