Mirrors

A young boy enters an octagon shaped room with mirrors as walls. He has dark brown hair and grey eyes. He has a pale complexion and wears a striped green and white t-shirt with black shorts and light brown leather shoes. He stares at the mirrors; nothing happens at first. Then a moment later the mirrors come to life; they seem to each tell a distinctive story.

He looks at one of the mirrors and a teenage boy appears. The teenager watches on as a group of boys viciously beat a weak looking man. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then the group leader flashes him a scornful look. The boy backs down and instead looks down at his feet, as the group proceeds beating the man, he grows still. Once they realize what they had done, the group scatters, and the boy is left staring at the dead man's corpse; then he runs away as well.

The boy then looks away from the mirror horrified by what he had seen. He then looks to the following mirror. It's a young man who is well built, yet he has an empty look to his eyes. He's looking at someone: its a girl. He seems to be attracted to her, as if he wants to talk to her and ask her out. He starts to walk towards the girl, but then he stops. She sees him and he decides to pretend like he doesn't see her. He then just stares at his feet for a while, but then he suddenly gets the nerve to go talk to her, but when he looks up, she's walking away with someone else. He then he looks again at the ground with sorrow. . .the vision ends.

The boy looks to another mirror. He sees a man who seems not to old, but past his prime. He sees that he has dark brown hair with some grays creeping out; his eyes have bags. The man sits in a leather chair in the corner of a boardroom full of stern looking people. A man stands at the end of the long boardroom table. The board seems to be accusing him of something, and the man strongly denies the accusations. Yet, the board doesn't believe him, so the man points to the man in the corner. He tells the board that he can vouch for him. However, the board informs him that the man in the corner has testified against him. A look of surprise and betrayal crosses over the face of the man on trial. He then calls the man in the corner a coward. The man in the corner just looks down at his hands. The man on trial is then dragged out.

As that vision ends, the young boy looks perplexed as to what these mirrors are trying to tell him. He then looks at the next mirror and it's the same man who sat in the corner chair from the last vision. He seems to be speeding in a car on a dark night and appears to be drunk. His face is full of a mix of anger, frustration, sadness, and depression. He then makes a sharp turn. He passes a red light, and then before he can realize it, he hits a teenager. The body goes flying and then goes limp. The man stops the car and rushes to the teenager, but when he realizes that they’re dead, he runs not to call the police, or to turn himself in, instead he runs for his own freedom. Although he doesn’t deserve freedom, since he has committed the gravest of all crimes, he has stolen a life. The vision flashes forward to some time later. The man is in handcuffs and being escorted out of a courthouse by police officers. A local newscaster talks into a camera and mentions that the man will be serving a minimum of forty-five years with no chance of parole.

The vision ends, and the boy is just standing in the room of mirrors. He seems to be in deep thought, but then suddenly he appears to come to some realization. He looks to the final mirror, and sure enough a vision appears: it is an old brittle man who has a long grey beard. The man is bald, and his general appearance shows that life has taken its toll. The boy closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He then puts his hand through the mirror and then walks through; the boy disappears, for he is no longer a boy, but the old man on the stool. For the mirrors were never just another fable, they where the story of a life, one of sorrow, and much regret.

by Jeancarlo Chajon

Journey Home

The castle appeared in the distance as a shadow casting over the timberland. Dusk had just arrived for the fourth time on my lonely journey, along with the crisp air and ominous moans and howls. My legs were beginning to numb and crack, and my feet urged for coverage. The earth felt cold on my cracking soles. My destination seemed to get further and further away. Nothing was more aggravating than a long mundane journey- literally mundane. My powers were completely drained, and I was starving, both literally and magically. I was desperate to recharge. The thought of relief by morning kept me going. I was determined to reach the castle by daybreak. The entire march would finally be worth it. I hoped to reunite with my friends that I had been separated with. To see their faces… To know that they’re okay…

Legend has it, this castle has been considered a safe place to all for centuries. A sanctuary for people like me. Away from the segregation and tormenting of society. Finally, a home. Somewhere I may belong.

As reluctant I am to admit, the first time I could make out the the outline of the ancient structure, I cried. It was on the morning of my second night alone. The fog from the previous night had cleared when I had awaken, and the sun seemed to shine on it like a spotlight.

But it didn’t necessarily look like much. From my point of view, it seemed small. I tried to stay optimistic, hoping that I had simply viewed it from a side, not the front. But as I got closer, details became clearer. The gray stone had aged to become a murky brown. Moss and fungi grew inside of cracks. The tip of one peak had broken off. One of the windows had completely shattered.

I was alone in my hike with just my mind, and I had began to think the worst. They found the castle. It was now abandoned, or maybe even worse- being used as a prison. Staring at the castle in the menacing moonlight made it believable.

Nevertheless, I continued on. I couldn’t turn back now. I was still too curious, still too hopeful.

But nothing would have prepared me for the flying mermaids.

by Madeline Loiaconi