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I started the ball rolling with my homework for The Dunbar Writers Group: The Mirror short story below but we have more submissions:

 

River Esk

River Esk runs rapid and wild,

While fish scurry along,

Nature hops along with the river,

While rocks stay still.

 

River Esk runs through gardens and villages,

While the sun shines brightly on the Esk,

Creatures come out and play,

Whilst the wasps stings and the bees produce the honey,

While all you hear is your cars.

 

Cars are noise and pollute the earth,

Disturb nature and river Esk.

By Tya W

 

The Mirror

When did I become nothing?
When did my reason to be pass me by?
When did I who once held others in happiness become disposable?

When I look in the mirror
I see the world taken
Stripped of physical confines
Bent and shaped into a ring
A lonely halo drifting in space

I see the reflection of a beast
Broken and forgotten
Starring at who he once was
Caring and loving
Now wicked and cold

When did I become nothing?
When did my reason to be pass me by?
When did I who once held others in happiness become disposable?

by Anon, (but I know who for those intersted.)

The Mirror

No it hadn't cracked. That's not to say what stood before it was worth reflecting. Harold 'The Barrel' Gardner had never been the perfect shape. As a child he had been short and fat apart from that time when his mother thought he was anorexic, but he had actually just managed to shake off his puppy fat whilst gaining an interest in rugby. Now he was short and fat again, with that added touch of non flattering baldness. Just where people got off saying it was a sign of fertility was beyond him. Thankfully he had resisted the comb over, or the frightening ridiculous dwindling pony tail. 

These weren't exactly plus points. So Harold gazed harder at his reflection. His mother use to say was something like a mirror couldn't show his warm and caring nature, or the love that surrounded him. That was little comfort for a growing lad in need of; well let's just say more than blush worthy thoughts about the girl three doors down. 

True there had been women, but they were more by accident or more often than not on the hunt for an inheritance somewhere down the line. His parents weren't rich, but they had been thrifty throughout, their own house and quality furnishings. So what if the woman in question had to put up with The Barrel for a couple of years before divorcing him and taking the lot. A prenuptial might have sorted them, but Harold had been pleased with what he got before, as always his mother interfered and the female in question was chased off.

There wasn't a judge in the land who would put him away. Matricide, well his father had seen fit to die naturally a few years back. So was he looking at a killer, or just a man who had finally reached the end of his tether? It didn't matter, the act was done and he stood to inherit everything bar a couple of hundred to friends and charity. How? That was so easy that he wondered how he hadn't come up with years ago. How do you kill a mother who only had your best interests at heart? 

By convincing her it was the right thing to do for me.

RJW 19-05-2010