The Legend
Sara Misra
(Stratford-upon-Avon)
The attic was a part of the house in which it was customary to store forgotten memories. The dust had long since settled on these, coating them with a protective layer, from the notice of the teeming world. It was a peaceful place: whose presence is ignored by the majority of adults wearing their hats and ornaments of self-importance and respect. Ignored by the insufferable people who seek peace in the outside world of noise; ignoring the place of pace right above their long noses.
However each memory held a magic, a story; to let you see another world, quite different from ours. I remember little children scurrying across the house only to stop, wonder at the top of the stairs; between this world and one charmingly long past.
There were many things in the attic. My parents used to joke about a lost mirror. The mirror was said to show the memories of the past. My parents called it the legend.
It was in the deepest darkest corner of the attic that I found it. A passing glance of an adult would not have even been able to discern its shape. The mirror. I remember the hot, sticky day clearly when I found it. I had run away from another of my sister’s well-meant harsh words, skidding to a stop outside the chain. Between assured death from my sister and the attic, the latter seemed the lesser of the two evils. As my head popped into the attic I stared. After some more staring and sounds of footsteps snapping me out of my reverie, and I stumbled to the darkest corner. It was here I found it. Though its frame had been eaten away by the rust I could still see some of the patterns on its edge. It was dull and very well hidden. The dust had seen to that.
As my fingers reached and wiped a smidgeon of dust away the surface burst into life. A breeze blew past blowing away the dust .only later I remembered that there were no windows in the attic. Colours of every imaginable hue danced as ballerinas on the polished surface of the glass. Pictures and stills of another age and world. I reached for the surface, the threads coiling around my finger, invit–
‘SARA!’ I whipped in the general direction of the sudden intrusion. ‘You better be in front of me in two minutes or else..’ As the countdown began I glanced at the mirror. It was untouched, unbroken save for a little chip, melting into the shadows. Not willing to die young I sprinted out of the attic. As I reached into my pocket out of habit, a sharp sting caused my hand to hastily retract. It was the missing chip. As I rubbed it the streams of light danced again on its surface. My hand rushed into its pocket as my furious sister came into sight; and a grin stole its way onto my face.