Mondo held up the peculiarly shaped blade to his eyes and studied it with all the wonder and curiosity of someone discovering an alien artifact. The reflection of the flickering candle in the mirror amplified the dancing flame, splashing shards of light lengthwise up the gleaming surface of the knife making him squint as he stared back at himself. With a sudden intake of breath he darted round, peering into the dimly lit little room. Movement caught his eye as a rat scurried across the floor and disappeared again into the dense shadows from whence it came. He turned back around and once again regarded his reflected face just as an ironic smirk began to form.
The thumping sounds coming from downstairs increased in their intensity and were now accompanied by muffled, muted, unintelligible voices; Mondo raised an eyebrow and chose to ignore them. In the mirror, his face resembled that of a skull – a trick of candle light acting out an illusion with shadows as it played with his deep set chiselled features and bald head. His eyes widened at the thought making him appear like some half-crazed madman in a tacky gothic horror film. He began to laugh maniacally over the absurdity of it all then waved the knife around in front of the mirror making the candle’s flame react violently.
When his laughter subsided he stood stock still and glared piercingly into the mirror, his eyes betraying a sudden realisation of fate. With both hands clasped firmly around the hilt of the blade, he lifted it above his head in a ceremonious fashion then tilted his head back exposing his bare chest. He inhaled deeply – he now remembered what came next.
“I now pay the ultimate price for all that I have done,” he uttered dramatically, his voice choking up with emotion.
Faster than the eye could see, the knife came plunging down and buried itself deep in Mondo’s chest. He let out a blood curdling scream of terror as the red flood gates opened and the fluid of life began oozing out from the freshly made, fatal wound. He dropped to his knees, trembling, still clasping the knife. He looked down in sheer horror at what he had just done, his eyes full of pitiful regret and remorse. His body started to sway back and forth desperately clinging to any life that remained, but the struggle was over and death claimed him. He collapsed to the floor coming to rest on his side, his chest still oozing blood.
The sounds of stomping feet approaching broke the silence and gravity of such a sombre moment. Light suddenly filled the room revealing Mondo’s body lying on the floor.
The woman’s voice was angry and authoritive.
“Now come on! The pest control people are here and we have to leave. I told you to save your rehearsals until we get to Aunt Sarah’s, didn’t I? So clean yourself up and stop mucking around. You have five minutes.”
The door slammed shut.
“Coming Mother,” said Mondo, sheepishly.