The Magnifying Glass

“All you have ever done is find fault and be critical, without ever taking a look at yourself,” his wife said as she slapped a magnifying glass into his hand.

He turned the object over in his hands in bemusement but remembered times as a child crouched in the dirt, magnifying glass focused inches from the ground watching the ants move in their industrial symmetry.  Back then it allowed him to peer into the nooks and crannies of insects and under rocks, yet as he grew into adolescence he turned his magnified gaze onto the people around him.  He explored the crevices of people’s character, pinpointing their weaknesses to his advantage.  Proudly he stood with chest of burnished bronze and crown of gold; too caught up in his reflection to notice the feet of clay.

“Turn this lens back on yourself and perhaps you’ll see something,” she said before turning on her heel and collecting her last bags from the front door.


One response to “The Magnifying Glass

  1. Just a little sketch I was working on. Found the idea in my notebook and thought I’d explore some of the possibilities. There is a whole short story, perhaps novel, in the metaphor of the magnifying glass, but I wanted to write something brief today. Not that it is easier to make it six sentences. With this one I felt that there had to be some “telling” and not just “showing” although I have made it a point to try and show more than I tell. A fullness in brevity, perhaps.

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