"Let justice be done, though the world may perish."

FERDINAND I
Personal Motto

Larry pumped the cylinder up on the shotgun and glared at his image in the long, oval mirror. Gaunt, sweaty, clad in filthy jeans and flannel shirt infested with holes, Larry knew he had seen better days. The dark barrel of the shotgun rested on his unshaven cheek and provided a cool sensation. Quivering lips parted as Larry’s eyes blinked and he muttered, "Mirror, mirror..." then coughed and laughed. It was an ironic gesture, but not one to exude joy.

His legs failed him for a moment. Larry slumped forward and supported himself on the nightstand beside the aged mirror. When his weight shifted, the table moved and tapped the long mirror, knocking it askew. Still holding the gun, the tall man gripped the table with his other hand and glared down. Quickly, Larry closed his eyes, not wanting to see what lived on that wooden surface. All that resided there reminded him of reality: An exhausted unemployment benefits notice; a crumpled letter that was a refusal to be re-hired at CHEMICON Weapons firm; a denied extension of medical benefits letter and unrenewable prescription medication bottles.

Standing straight again, Larry held the gun across his chest flat and barked at the distorted reflection, "Mirror, mirror, who is the fairest of them all?" Eyes closed, tears streaming from them, he flopped on the bed, hip impacting on the large suitcase in the process. His right hand drummed on the thin cover and the lumpy contents within. Peering at the tag on the case, he gave out an ironic chuckle, stunned that the case still bore the CHEMICON Security clearance tag. Larry ruminated on the fact that their Personnel Department sucked at making choices as well as their Security force. Larry opened the flap of the case, but his hand soon receded.

Licking the icy tip of the barrel, Larry closed his eyes and thought of the daughter he could no longer visit without supervision. More tears came and torrents of ice flowed over his skull. Glancing at the mirror again, he thumbed the trigger. Suddenly, Larry turned his head and said, "Mirror, mirror, who is the fairest of them all? Sonofabitch!"

Jumping up, he went to the mirror and gaped deep into its depths. No stygian spirit or force dire confronted him, only a bounced image...one that escaped him before. He looked at the window where this image originated and then back to the mirror.

Larry put down the rifle and stepped closer to the window. He opened the two long, antiquated doors and heard the bustle of the city, teaming with life. The smells of exhaust and the distant aroma of Lake Michigan filled his senses. Gazing over at the open suitcase, exposing dozens of bottles from CHEMICON germ warfare research sector, Larry knew the answer to his question.

"Mirror, mirror, I shoulda known who was fairer than me!" Teeth grinding, hands balled into fists, Larry leered at the city and proclaimed, "All of them!"

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