Alfred Delorme got up one morning at 3 a.m. from a most horrible nightmare. He sat up on the edge of his bed and rubbed his eyes trying to recall what the nightmare had been about. After a couple of deep breaths the dream came back to him in fragmented images. He remembered dying alone in a hospital and then being at his funeral and nobody being there. The priest then cancelled his funeral and sent his body back to the morgue but the morgue didn't want it either so they sent it back to the family and the family didn't want it so they merely rolled it up in a carpet and threw it into a dumpster.
Alfred then walked into the washroom to get a drink of water and before he was able to turn on the tap he caught a look at himself in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw. He was an old man that looked like he was tired of life and had given up on his will to live. His face was gaunt with beady little eyes that seemed to have sunken into the back of his head. His skin was a ash grey color, the same skin color of a corpse. He turned his head from side to side and was amazed at all of the wrinkles that roadmapped his face. Alfred then pulled on the skin that so loosely hung from his sharp boney face. He thought that he looked like a turkey. He then stared at the veins that protruded out of his temples and neck. They were like ropes that pulsated. When he stared at them hard enough he could see them flex with pumping blood. Alfred then ran his fingers through his grey hair and realized how little of it was left. Yes, he was tired of living and he knew that he was just wasting his time on earth as nobody knew that he existed and he had nothing more to contribute to society. He no longer cared.
Alfred could not believe that 93 years had passed by since the day he was born and he had done nothing with his life except bitch and complain, claiming he never got a chance. But that was when he realized that he never seized the chance and now his life had passed him by and there was nothing he could do except wait for death which could come at any minute. Alfred then raised his limp and boney hand, made a fist and smashed it into the mirror, shattering the glass into a million pieces.
Alfred then stepped away from the shattered mirror and realized that the mirror had given him a terrifying foretelling glimpse of how his life was going to be when he got old if he didn't change the path he was on. He was consumed with cynicism, negativity and bitterness. He hated the world and hated himself for a reason unknown. Alfred was only 12 years old.