The Mirror in the Attic
Emilia Marguerite
I slowly pull off a dust sheet and an old, shiny mirror gleams back at me, reflecting my be-wondered face.
Dust flies around me as I reach to touch the glass.
My fingers fall into contact; the cool mirror pressing against my fingertips.
Unsettled feelings rush through me; the mirror doesn’t feel solid like others, there is something different about it. Everything seems distorted; shadows creep eerily around me.
I pull away.
Suddenly, the reflection changes.
My past flashes before me. Pausing at those horrible memories, all the things that have gone wrong. All the things I never wanted to lay eyes on again.
Wind suddenly rushes out of the mirror, surrounding me like a tornado.
All those guilty moments shouting out at me.
I sink to my knees, hot tears flooding down my face, my eyes blur, my breaths shallow.
I scream.
As loud as I can, until there is no air left in my lungs.
Everything stops. The wind vanishes into the mirror, the dust settles, and my flushed face and bent body appear.