He sat there that night, alone. All was said and done. The mirror that Lina adored for months in a store window now lay in ruins on the floor. It didn't matter, anyway. She never bought anything that he liked, and only shopped for her own taste. He waved that thought out of his mind as a symphony was coming to a finish on a record. He was too busy replaying the day in his mind, over and over again.

All his life he heard taunts and tattletales about himself. He didn't let it show how much it actually bothered him. Today he was leaving work and walking to his car when he heard the voice of a little girl.

"Mommy, why is his face so long? Why does he have such a pointy nose?"

The man ran his fingers down his long, slender face, then down the sides of his nose.

"I'm hideous. I'm a demon. I'm a monster. I'm nothing."

A little voice in the back of his head came into focus. "You're not a nothing. You've got more to be thankful for than most. You've got a much valued job, wonderful friends, a blessed talent in music, great skill in fencing, and two wonderful children*."

He gave a guilty smile. He did have many things to be grateful for, but he, himself, was not worthy of that praise he felt.

The whole way home the little girl's comment went through his mind. "Am I really this repulsive?" He came close to asking his driver a few times. Finally he'd gotten home. He and his driver stepped into his apartment. Then he saw the mirror. The mirror that brought him to an uncontrollable, boiling rage.

In the reflection he saw his tall skeleton. There was his coat and uniform covering his body he hated ever so much. His eyes moved upwards to his face. His long, ugly face.

First he saw his lips. Two parts that released both love and distaste. The glance went up to his nose. That unsightly nose that he loathed. It set him apart, he felt. His eyes met the eyes in the mirror. Fire was passionately burning within then. A fire so tremendous he couldn't contain it. In the moment it seemed like the right thing to do, but now he shoke his head in shame. In a swift draw he'd clutched his pistol. Taking it with two hands he steadied the barrel towards the bridge of the nose on his mirror image.

"You lie, you're a liar. You're not me, I am. You made me like this. It was you who formed and molded me. It's you who will take the blame." Many more thoughts and snide remarks floated through his head, but he couldn't take it anymore. He snapped the trigger and watched in bliss.

The glass climbed high into the air. A million bits of glass fell to the ground, as beautiful as Christmas snow. He tilted his head and watched as the pieces of glass fell in surreal slow motion. They sparkled, glittered, glistened, and shined in the moonlight filtering in through the window. How beautiful a sight. At last the pieces collided with the cold floor and split into more prism-catching bits.

After that last replay in his mind, he realized the record was over. He got up from his chair and stepped out of the parlor. Now he stood in front of the mirror that had been. It didn't make sense to him now, but it did in those few brief moments. He bent down and waved his hand through the broken glass. It was smooth and sharp. He ignored the thin cuts multiplying on his hand. His eyes watered and his face softened. "The mind is a powerful tool," he thought nostalgically.

He decided to leave the pieces there. Lina would find it in the morning. "It's just another note played by the barrel-organ which the Lord God turns himself.**" He let out a melodramatic sigh.

1. This is written from Reinhard Heydrich's point of view. I, for one,
think he was absolutely handsome!
*= His two daughter's weren't born yet.
**= Taken from a line in one of his father's operas, also Reinhard
Heydrich's last words which the quote goes as follows: "The world is just
a barrel-organ which the Lord God turns himself. We all have to dance to
the tune which is already on the drum."