Conversation with an Inner Editor

I dropped my pen as Shelli tossed a heavy, flat bundle onto the fluff of my comforter.

"Try it out," she beamed. "You'll love it." She gave me a huge, fake wave and ducked back into the dorm hall.

"That was different," I said, removing the pink and expensive t-shirt that wrapped the object. An oval mirror about the size of my face shone in my hands. The dark, wooden edges were etched in carvings that looked... Druidic. Greek. Ancient.

I held it up. "Greetings," I said playfully, to myself.

"Greetings," I answered back. Or rather, my reflection did.

I nearly dropped the mirror.

"Oh, don't," the reflection said. "If you break it, you know the curse. Seven years' bad luck."

"Yeah, Grandma used to say that," I said slowly. "It's what I think whenever I see a mirror."

"Wow, you have some unresolved issues, don't you?" my face answered.

"Most grandmas are missed when they're gone, aren't they?" I chose to quip back. My mind churned. Grandma had warned me about tricky old mirrors like this one.  She said they swallowed your soul, or were your soul, or something. What were the chances of coming across one in my girls' dorm? Well, that might be the most likely place, come to think of it.

"So... care to tell me what's going on here?" I asked myself.

"Why don't you tell me, since you seem to know everything," my self grumbled.

"Oh no," I shook my head. "You're the brilliant one. You understand things on a much deeper level than the rest of the world." Flattery always helped.

"Well, that's always a possibility," my face said doubtfully. "But you're the one who makes the decisions in the end."

"That's not true. Remember, I totally let the end to last week's writing assignment be your call.  The main character drowned in the dump, of all places. I would never have come up with that on my own."

"Did the teacher say it was brilliant?" I looked suspicious.

I sighed dramatically. "You know she's always late returning assignments. It'll probably be another month."

"It's inexcusable," she agreed.

In my hands, the mirror shattered, leaving glass shards and dust across my comforter.  I'd remembered Grandma's trick. If you could get your inner editor to agree with you, the curse broke. "Shelli must have loved you," I smiled cheerfully, as I fetched the vacuum.

Fragments cleared, I stuck my pen between my lips and searched for my muse. Emptiness echoed inside me. "No," I breathed. "Not the week of finals. And I have a job interview tomorrow." 

She'd always been right, and she'd tried to warn me. Seven years was a long time to pay.

___

This story is off Suzanne Warr's blog-hop prompt (come join in!!) to show a love-hate relationship.  I think the love-hate experience is what the word "relationship" promises in general, but this one is near and dear to my heart.  I can't think what I'd do without my inner voices.  What is your most aggravating love?