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"The Reflection" (the seventy-eighth ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
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Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "The Reflection" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (EST), Feb 15, 2008 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| The Reflection By glenlee10@sky.com (Entry #3) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| The woman checked her appearance for
one final time before leaving the hotel room. She tidied the already tidy
collar of her beige, silk blouse and smoothed her hands over her hips, making
sure her sage-green skirt was without wrinkles. The lapels of the matching
jacket were straight but she tugged at them nevertheless. She confirmed the
earrings she had chosen went with the outfit; the thin gold ones that
accentuated her long neck, She pushed an errant strand of blonde hair back from
her face. It immediately swung forward again. She grinned and shrugged. If
anything, it softened her features. Yet she was anything but soft. The Exhibition had been a good one. She had used her looks to charm, even seduce the customers, especially the middle-aged men, and her order book was full. It was time to go home and start work. She felt good. She knew she looked good and if she managed to bump into Jenkins of Deanes & Co in reception, there was still a chance she could squeeze an order out of him. She frowned. She hated to be bested. Even a small order would do. It was a dull day and the early drizzle was promising to turn into heavy rain. Suddenly, the lights flickered and there was a sharp crack of thunder overhead. The woman shrieked. The mirror reflected her startled face; wide, green eyes, and cherry-lined lips pulled into an outraged ‘O’. Her nostrils flared and her cheeks paled despite carefully applied makeup. The thunder was followed by a flash of lightening that lit up the room just as the lights went out. With a gasp, she turned from the mirror. She blinked. The lights came back on and she laughed. Fancy being frightened, she chided herself. She looked at her watch. It was time to go. She had a long drive ahead of her. She snatched up her handbag, grappled with the strap of her laptop and swinging it onto her shoulder, she left the room without a backward glance. Had she looked back, she might have noticed her reflection in the mirror; an errant strand of blonde hair swinging forward across a startled face with wide, green eyes, and cherry-lined lips pulled into an outraged ‘O’. Its nostrils were flared and its cheeks were pale underneath the carefully applied makeup. Slowly, the reflection’s features relaxed. The green eyes contracted to their usual size, the lips closed to a normal, cherry-lined mouth and the cheeks regained their natural glow. The image pushed the strand of hair away from its face and tucked it behind an ear, where it stayed put. “I don’t know why she didn’t think of something as simple as that,” the reflection grumbled, “rather than allowing it to cover half our face all the time.” It was talking to itself. It blinked. It looked out. It couldn’t see the woman. It gasped and blinked again. Slowly it raised its right hand. There was no corresponding movement opposite. It shook its head in disbelief. Its view was limited; part of an unmade bed, a screwed up tissue next to a waste bin, partly-opened curtains and the door into the bathroom. It was shut. The woman wasn’t in the room. It waited. She must be in the bathroom; she had to be somewhere around, surely? But when she didn’t appear, the reflection began to feel frightened. Abandoned! I’ve been abandoned, it thought Suddenly claustrophobic it clawed at the back of the mirror with red-painted nails, scratching frantically. I have to get out of here, it mouthed silently. A nail tore but despite a bleeding finger, it carried on tearing at the mirror until the frame gave at the bottom. The reflection fell from the mirror and slid on a draught to the television where it clung while its panic subsided. Static on the set helped it attach itself to the screen, which was still warm. The woman had gone. The laptop was missing so she wasn’t coming back. The reflection knew the machine well, knew how important it was to the woman. It had appeared on the black, mirrored face many times while the woman waited for the laptop to warm up. The reflection hung onto the television like a tortured cobweb and stared at the door through which the woman must have gone. Fear still twisted its face. The chambermaid who entered the room at that moment swore later that she had seen a ghost in Room 301. She squealed, backed from the room and ran screaming down the corridor, knocking over her trolley and scattering sachets of milk and shampoo across the patterned carpet. She left the door to the room wide open. The reflection seized its chance. Lifting on the warm air from a radiator, it glided through the door and latched onto a picture on the wall opposite. The reflection’s face was camouflaged by the floral print so was seen by neither the spotty, young man who represented the hotel management, nor by the frightened maid who followed him to Room 301. “I tell you it was a ghost.” The chambermaid refused to enter the room. “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” the young man said but shifted uneasily from one foot to the other by the open door. “You go on in then!” There was a lift nearby. Its door pinged open. The reflection wafted from the picture, over the heads of the two hotel guests who were getting from the lift. One of the men felt the breeze of its passing and wafted his hand across his face. “Cobwebs!” he protested. “You’d think with the money this place charges they could clean the place more efficiently.” The reflection flattened itself to the mirrored ceiling of the lift, in a corner. It tried to make itself as inconspicuous as possible. The maid’s screaming had unnerved it. The lift went up to the eighth floor. The door opened and an elderly woman entered, leaning heavily on a stick. A middle-aged woman followed her. The older of the two was grizzling about the standard of food in the hotel; the younger was trying hard to ignore her. She had to respond to an elbow in her ribs however. “Stop that, Mother.” She grumbled in turn. “And stop complaining. Someone might hear you.” “So what if they do? I’m entitled to my opinion, aren’t I? And the breakfast eggs were disgusting? Even you thought they were.” The reflection was distracted by the duo and when the door opened at Reception, it almost missed its chance to escape from the lift. The lift faced a marble pillar. There were no mirrored surfaces for the reflection to slide onto. The younger woman strode from the lift. The older woman took her time, jamming the end of her stick in the door just before it closed. With a strength that belied her age, she muscled through; giving the reflection time to drop onto the brooch the old woman wore on the lapel of her coat. The reflection scrunched itself up as small as it could and rode, jerkily, into the reception foyer. The woman was still in the foyer. She was shaking hands with a man and smiling. The reflection, desperate to reach her, looked round for a mirror. There was one. The woman and the man were standing in front of it but before the reflection could do anything, the old woman turned towards her daughter, demanding to know why she hadn’t been more helpful in the lift. All the reflection could see was the younger woman’s brown coat, stretched across an ample bosom. The daughter turned away from her mother and still arguing, the two moved slowly across the foyer towards the exit. From its perch on the brooch, the reflection saw her woman and the man part. The woman, heels clacking tidily on the marble floor, left the hotel via the revolving door. The reflection let go its hold on the brooch and glided the small distance to attach itself to the mirror. It was too stressed by now to notice how white the man went. He staggered. “No,” he gasped. “It’s not possible!” “Mr.Jenkins! Are you alright, sir?” One of the receptionists called to him. “Do you need to sit down? Are you unwell? Shall I fetch the First Aider?” The man shook his head and pulled himself together. It must have been a trick of the light, he told himself. How could he explain what he’d just seen otherwise? He had definitely not seen a woman walk past a mirror without having a reflection and she had most definitely not been followed by a sorrowful image of her face, which had not, most definitely not, attached itself to the mirror in her wake. “Only indigestion,” he murmured to the receptionist, waving away her intention to be helpful. He knew the woman from whom he’d just parted was something of a vamp but he couldn’t believe she was also a vampire. It was a trick of the light, he reassured himself again; something to do with the storm, no doubt. A taxi was waiting for a guest outside the hotel and the reflection was able to leave the foyer and slip through a louvered vent. The taxi-driver was too busy with his fare to notice the sad face with wide, green eyes and cherry-lined lips in his wing-mirror and by the time he came to start the engine and needed the mirror, the reflection had gone, slipping through the car park from wing mirror to wing mirror, until it caught up with the woman. The woman was smiling. Her plan to catch Jenkins and wring an order from him had worked. She’d known she could do it. She stowed her laptop in the boot, along with the suitcase she’d put there before breakfast. She opened the door, sat in the driver’s seat and swung her legs inside. The reflection followed. From habit, it knew where to go next, so was waiting when the woman peered into the rear-view mirror. The woman noticed she was frowning; that she looked uneasy. Then their eyes met. The connection was made and the frown dissolved. Wide, green eyes sparkled and cherry-lined lips smiled. An errant strand of blonde hair swung across her face. She inspected her appearance for a moment, and then tucked the hair behind her ear. I think, after all, that looks better, she thought. The rain had stopped and the thunder and lightening had disappeared by the time the woman, whole again, drove from the hotel car park. Driving along the motorway, she found herself sucking a sore finger. She noticed she’d broken the fingernail. She swore softly. She’d no idea how that had happened. |
| The Reflection By Colin Campbell www.colincampbell.org (Entry #5) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| Phantom in the mist at dawn. Echo of a waking dream. Drifts away and soon is gone. Reflected in a different stream. Echo of a waking dream. Shadow fading in the light. Reflected in a different stream. Softly fading out of sight. Shadow fading in the light. Drifts away and soon is gone. Softly fading out of sight. Phantom in the mist at dawn. |
| The
WCA's The Writers' Choice Awards |
| Here's how the members of the
ACWclub voted for their favorite entries: First place: #3 Second place: #7 Third place: #5 Fourth place: #6 |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| The Reflection Salvatore Buttaci http://www.geocities.com/sambpoet |
#1 of 7 |
| 1928 words | |
| Prince Umbart sat on a patch of grass staring absently
into the pond. Dragonflies buzzed and alighted on the brown surface of the
water, then flew noisily away, leaving behind concentric circles that were
almost hypnotic. He fanned the air as if to dispel, not only their return, but
the onslaught of pesky memory. Long before the woman had named him, he had dared to question too much. Taught the goodness of nature, he had defied it. Where had it gotten him! "Consider the outcome. End this!" they had begged him. "It will cost you your life!" "My life? What of my freedom?" When they persisted, Prince Umbart imagined himself an impenetrable stone. "I cannot hear you. I am a stone. I am a stone." He chanted the litany inside his head until his thought-voice wearied him. Then he left them at the pond with their grim warnings firing away like pellets at his back. What could they tell him that he did not already know? He could die. He was a prince but he could die. It was not a fair price for freedom; still, he had come this far. He would risk it all if it came to that. At his trial, the verdict at last delivered, Umbart stood condemned. Not courage now but desperation drove him to cry out, "Torture this body you say has sinned! Kill me! But I beg your mercy." He fell to his knees, chains clanking around him on the moss-grown rocks. The jurors remained unmoved by his tears. Immobile, unbending, solid like so many lifeless stones. "Death would be too liberating for such as you!" said one of them. "To question Nature?" said another. "To challenge 'The Way It Must Be'?" "Anything but the Fairy Tale!" begged the prince, kicking and thrashing to break free of the two guards who dragged him from the shelter of courtyard trees. The assembly looked away. It was as though suddenly all memory of the unforgiven prince had been erased. For them it was as if he had never existed. *** Umbart visibly trembled as he peered into the dark archway of Bopek‘s haven. Bopek, Dispenser of Pain and Sorrow. Ancient wizard Bopek who materialized now in the moonlight. A dark aura enveloped his small frame that emitted an offensive odor of potions gone awry. "Despicable!" croaked the Old One. "Even I in all my wisdom could never have dreamed such blasphemy. What brought on your madness? Lift your head, Fool!" The prince obeyed. He stared into those abysmal eyes and wondered of those black mysteries that hearsay had peppered his night dreams. "In the wisp of a moment," spoke the Pain Wizard, elevating a solution that bubbled in its cup, "you will drink this. All the world's pain. You have heard? In horrid nightmares wandering discarnates shriek it to the winds. The Pain of the World. And I will share it with you." At his sides the two guards tightened their hold while Bopek with trembling hands lifted the potion like a blessed grail and limped grotesquely towards him. Thus began the wizard: "You will die to the self. You will be transformed. You will become not of our kind. You will die to the self. You will be transformed. You will become their image." "No! Mercy! Mercy!" "Abide in their world." “I recant!” “Made to share their ugliness.” Umbart groveled before the wizard. "Wake me from this horrid dream!" he cried, but he knew he was not dreaming. These were the dreaded waters loved ones had warned him not to stir. From the start all he had hoped to gain was freedom: to follow his own heart, even if it meant defying nature itself. Bopek's strident voice pierced him like a sword. "Fairy Tale! Fairy Tale! You cannot escape. Nor can you ever return. Your pride has incurred His Holy Vengeance and He has heaped upon your head The Fairy Tale. Perish the thought of life happily ever after!" The caustic brew seemed to melt Umbart's being, burn away the essence of all that he had been. Soon the cup fell away and so did he, drugged and asleep on the cold ground of Bopek's domed hut. When his eyes finally opened, it was to a fiercely hot sun punishing down on him. An alien voice boomed, a voice which, since his birth, he had been taught was evil. To survive, one had to hide until the voice passed, Umbart knew, but that was in the previous life, the life they had taken from him. It was too late now; still, he remembered the goodness of nature, how all creatures were as they were meant to be, their bodies instinctually safe, protected. His own body ached. It felt heavy. Oppressively large. Now it was Umbart's own voice that frightened him. He had opened his eyes, looked upon the horror of his ugly body, and screamed the sound that once had been the sound he feared. Above him the booming voice asked if he were all right. "Need help? A doctor?" Umbart shielded his eyes from what appeared more gruesome than he had ever espied it from the safety of distance. Now he was there, looking up at the creature, then down at himself: he had become the image of his enemy! Then more voices. The ground beneath him quaked to the thunder of approaching footsteps. Awkwardly he raised himself upright, nearly toppled from the weight of the wooziness clouding his head. Nevertheless he managed to run his transformed beast-body into the woods––an inbred reaction––but the woods were no longer the haven of a day ago. Escape now from whom? he wondered. Who was the enemy now? Sore muscles attested to the length of time he had hidden himself in the gray shrubs. When night came, long after the voices had died and the ground grown silent of footfalls, Umbart sought the lily pond. There he would sit and stare at his reflection in the waters until the moon retrieved its own reflection wobbling on the surface of the pond, and dawn dropped the sun’s in all its orange brightness. It was his cue to go back into hiding among the forest trees. Days later, when he was certain they had stopped pursuing him, he stood daringly at the wood's edge, delving into the woods only for fruit and berries. But he had been mistaken. One of them returned. Each day he would hear it calling softly from the nearby pond. "I will not hurt you," it said. "Won't you come into the sunlight?" Umbart was so weary of being alone and frightened. He could not imagine how this world or any other could inflict upon him a greater hurt than the Fairy Tale already had: his memories, his instincts––everything!––forever trapped inside an alien body. At last he came into the sunlight. Its name was Julia; it called him Adam. At first he tried his thought-voice, but the creature did not respond, so he spit the sounds that miraculously leaped from his mouth. He told how grievously he had sinned against nature and how the jurors had condemned him. This enemy he so long feared and rightly distrusted had become his only friend. Daily he waited for Julia at the edge of the woods. It had promised to protect him. How could he hate this creature? It was as he had tried to tell them all a lifetime ago: in nature there could be freedom! Was it the nature of this beast to befriend him? It spoke of love, the gift that made the creature kind. If only he could learn its secret! He could never return to the life he had once led, but perhaps Julia could make his exile bearable. Love could teach him how to survive in this strange world. Then he'd have succeeded in overturning his sentence and defeating those who had condemned him. If he learned of love, it would not be the first time he'd dare the unthinkable! Now unafraid, Umbart sat beside Julia at the same lily pond where before the Fairy Tale he had lived and played and finally was apprehended. It was the same lily pond where after the Fairy Tale he had sat in desperate meditation, attempting to conjure the good spirits of nature to save him. But nothing had come of it. There could never be forgiveness. An alien himself now, he had been severed from his past. Soon he would have to leave this pond as well. Julia. Julia and Adam. Yes, he told himself, there will be a happy ending after all, Bopek. You will see. Etched against the moon, once-imagined tall branches of trees rustled high into the heavens and cast shadows now that poked the lily pads. Umbart wanted to remember this pond, engrave it deeply in his memory, and bid farewell. Then footsteps behind him. He did not hear them. Walking on the grass, Julia had sidestepped the stones and twigs and at last stood behind him. It placed its hands over his eyes. "Guess who, dear Adam." Sweat bubbled like blood out of his pores. Sticky. Cold. Fear was the new monster he tried to will away with a prayer of childhood: "Oh, Goodness in Nature! Oh, Goodness in Nature!" It was Julia. He knew its touch could not be evil. He was a man now; he was Adam. And men were not afraid. The creature's hands blocked his sight but he could visualize the trees. He could imagine once leaping into the safe woods. He could envision the mud that circled the pond, soft and comforting. And the lily pond. The pond of floating water lilies. He could see it all and still he knew it belonged to a dead world to which he no longer owed allegiance. He had been cast from that amphibian world. "Guess who," it said again. Where was his voice? The voice of a man. Adam's voice. Then Julia said, this time more insistent, "Who!" But there was laughter in its voice. "Prince Adam, it is I––your princess!" Then Julia maneuvered suddenly so that it faced him, and his eyes were filled with the creature. Julia forced open his gaping mouth with a wet probing tongue. Then the creature kissed the prince. The sudden agony that bellowed from the mouth of Julia hushed the chirping birds and crickets quaking in the darkness. It would be a long time before the screaming stopped. On a lily pad far beneath the trembling Julia, Umbart struggled with the calling of the creature's name: an unpronounceable burden croaking thick in his throat. It would not come. Bulging eyes gawked at the screaming Julia, knowing all at once he had lost both worlds. And still, the beautiful name of Julia, Julia, Julia, raged like a storm in his mind, but he could only croak rasping sounds. Nearby with longing he watched the frightened toads scatter for the safety of the woods. He was alone and would be, unhappily ever after. His long, thin tongue unrolled, darted feebly at a hovering dragonfly. That too eluded him. He stared absently at his reflection in the rippling mirror of the pond. |
|
| The Reflection DNR www.ihadtoputsomething.blogspot.com |
#2 of 7 |
| 2481 words | |
| Home... Again? Penny sits in her new room, in her new home. She’s sitting on the bed hugging her knees. “This is the 5th family in 8 weeks. What’s wrong with me... why can’t any one love me??” She asks in a whisper, hoping there would be an answer and yet praying that it wasn’t her. Lisa sticks her head in and says, “It’s late Penny girl, why don’t you change in to your PJs and we’ll have some cookies and milk, ok?” Penny wipes a tear from her eye without letting Lisa see, fakes a smile and says, “Ok, yeah. That would be nice.” Lisa closes the door and turns towards the kitchen. Before the door totally closes, Penny is screaming like she is on fire. The kind of panic scream that girls seem to master at a very early age. Lisa doesn’t have time to open the door before Penny throws the door open so hard it lodges the door knob in the wall. “NO!!! YOU CAN’T MAKE ME STAY IN THAT ROOM!!! NOOOoooo!!!” Penny screams and rushes by Lisa. She hits Lisa with such force that she is knocked down to the floor. Penny heads down the hall and out the front door. A few minutes later Lisa calls Doc B. “I’m telling you Doc,” Lisa says exhausted, “it’s like everyone has said. At some point when she is alone, she just goes berserk. Like she sees a demon or something.” “Lisa, you know you are my last hope at getting this poor girl placed in a permanent foster home.” “I know, Doc... I know. But she broke my arm and there is a hole in that wall. Who's gonna pay for that?!? ME!! Right? I know, it’s part of the job but I get to choose who. After fostering kids for 20 plus years, when you see some, you can just tell. This one has no hope.” “Lisa...” “No, Doc. I’m sorry.” Lisa hangs up the phone. The police and EMTs arrive at the same time. The police have found Penny about a mile down the road, heading back to town. “Is this her, ma’am?” the officer asks. “Yes. Take her back to the home. She’s not welcome here.” Lisa turns her back to Penny and the officer and looks at the EMT. “It’s broken, isn’t it? That little brat broke my arm.” Yesterday Dr. Brendakaski sat at her desk. Small, cramped and crowed as it was, this was her office. “Finally”, she thought. “My own office in a place where I can do some real good.” It was her first day on the job. Doc Brenda is a Doctor of Psychology. She had asked to work in this small town foster care home because she wanted to make a difference and to work with children. Mac, one of the case workers in the office, walked in and handed her a file. “What’s this?” she asked. “Penny. The first case that needs your attention. The courts want your approval before she can leave. Next month is her 16th birthday and she’s petitioned the court to move out on her own. The judge is apprehensive and wants your opinion.” Mac grinned. He knew this was not the kind of psychology she wanted to practice. “Welcome the foster care system, Doc.” Doc scanned the file. Penny had been in foster care since she was 6. In fact it was her 6th birthday that celebrated her arrival. Along with the many issues most foster kids seem to have, Penny had brought other baggage. The authorities speculated that, as her parents were cleaning up the house from her 6th birthday party, a man in a meth induced craze broke in and killed them. He had slashed them, cutting their throats and mid sections. None of their wounds were lethal on their own, but together, they caused them to bleed to death. The coroner estimated it took 10-15 minutes and was excruciatingly painful. The meth addict, the murderer of Penny’s parents, had never been found. The next day, as the forensics team was collecting evidence, they stumbled upon Penny. Still asleep in her room. “How could she sleep through this?” one asked. They picked her up and covered her with a blanket so she would not have to see the blood everywhere. Little Penny, the six year old girl, held on to the technician so tight she thought Penny was going to strangle her. Once outside, Penny was handed to a police officer. He played with her and gave her a donated stuffed bear. The troopers report noted how pretty her smile was and how innocent she seemed. After about 30 minutes Child Services arrived and took Penny to the home. No living relatives could be found. Penny’s parents had not written a will, so, Penny was introduced to the joys of a small town foster care system. The courts, in their wisdom, had mandated weekly group counseling. She has been to these sessions every week for the last 10 years of her life. Penny would describe hearing the screams of her parents, “Please!!! Don’t hurt us!!! You can have anything.... everything...”. She described with chilling detail the sounds of their voices being mixing with a fluid, as the slashes to their chests and abdomens filled their air ways with blood; the horrific sound of her mother and father drowning in their own blood. Penny could, with enough detail to make most people have cold chills, describe the sounds the man had made, laughing, talking to them, taunting them, as if them saying “please, don’t” one more time would make him stop. She even went as far as to describe the sadistic look of glee on his face and how she imagined him picking up their limp, lifeless bodies and dancing around with them. Without exception, every counselor that had ever heard Penny’s description of these events recommended she continue counseling. “Penny’s vivid description of the events surrounding her parents murders is imaginative.” “She is still romanticizing the murders.” “Her voice shows no signs of acceptance.” One therapist even went as far as to write, “She seems to get joy from my reactions and the reactions of the others in the group.” Doc read through Penny’s file. “Amazing,” she mumbled to her self. “Every counselor hears the story new and is shocked. This poor girl has to re-tell it every couple months, every time there is a new counselor. No wonder she doesn’t sound remorseful or shocked, she has relived it nearly every month of every year for the last ten years.” Doc slapped the file closed and went down the hall to the small conference room where Penny was sitting. Penny was used to these visits. A new counselor, re-tell the story, watch the shock on their faces. She almost found humor in it. It was like she was reading or describing a graphic comic book to them. It was a sad story of a little girl, not her. Not any more. Doc introduced herself and sat. Penny looked at her and started without being asked. “I remember my parents putting me to bed...” “What..? No, wait,” said Doc. “I don’t need to hear your story. You don’t have to relive it again, for me.” Penny sat there with her mouth open, shocked. No one had ever stopped her; no one ever, didn’t need to hear every detail. “So, what do you want? Why am I here?” “I want you to try one more home before thinking about heading out on your own. My house. That is, my mom’s house. See, what nobody around her knows yet is that I was raised right here in this town, in foster care. Mom, Lisa, is great. I’ve talked to her, she has an opening and Mac can take you up there tomorrow. Will you try it?” said Doc. “Do I have a choice?” groaned Penny, as she got up and headed to her room to pack. Again. Back Home Doc made it to the home in record time and was there before Penny and the officer. It was about 11:30 pm. She had just finished washing her face and was heading for bed when the call came. When the officer arrived with Penny, she looked like any teenager that had been caught doing something they weren’t suppose to. Sulking, avoiding eye contact, arms crossed, basically being a brat. When Penny saw Doc, she stared, with her mouth open. Doc thought she was surprised that she had come to the home to meet her. Penny was surprised how old and pale Doc looked. “Want me to say with you two for a while?” the officer asked. “No,” said Doc. “I think we’ll be fine. We both could use a little girl time.” The officer smile, nodded in acknowledgment and left. The unlikely ‘foster sisters’ headed for the kitchen. Doc grabbed some crackers, milk and cheese. She made a quick spread on paper plates and they snacked. Doc took a bite and quickly pulled it out of her mouth. “This stuff is gross!” She gagged in reflex at the texture and aroma that is common from donated surplus government cheese. Penny giggled but caught herself. She was afraid to laugh at an adult, especially the one in charge of the home. Doc started to snicker and Penny let her guard down.... slightly. They talked about nothing and anything. The daisy Penny had drawn on her jeans in ink. The general disgusting flavor of the food the home served. The two laughed and ate crackers for about an hour. Doc glanced at Penny, she needed to ask a probing psychological question with out scaring the girl away. After all, it was her job...“When you first came in this evening, you looked like you had a question on your mind. What was it?” Without thinking Penny answered, like she was talking to her best friend. “You look so different from earlier today. You look...” Penny’s voice trailed off. Shit thought Doc, she closing down, forming ranks. Fast damn-it, do something. Before she could think, she flung a piece of that nasty cheese at her and said, “If you don’t tell me, you’re gonna have to eat this cheese!” Doc has surprised herself, Penny was almost shocked. Doc had used a voice and tone that she had not heard come from her mouth in years. She was teasing the girl, like her foster sisters used to tease each other at Lisa’s, those many years ago. “You look old!” Penny barked. She started to cry, embarrassed. Penny ran off down the hall into her room, jumped onto her bed and buried herself in the covers. She laid there sobbing. Doc had followed her down the hall and when she walked into the room, she sat on Penny’s bed and rubbed her back. “It’s ok sweetie. I’m not mad at you. I just don’t have my make up on. Make up hides many of the blemishes on my face. When it is off... I look older.” Tomorrow Time passed and Doc and Penny became more than friends. More like mentor and student. But Doc was frustrated that the ’you’re older’ comment that had caused Penny to break down didn’t go any where. No matter how much she probed, Penny wouldn’t reveal the truth about what bothered her so much. Penny walked into Doc’s office one day and Doc was freshening her lipstick. Penny froze. Doc put the compact in her purse and closed the lipstick. When Doc looked up, she asked, “Penny, are you ok?” Nothing. “Penny!” Doc shouted. Penny shook her head, regaining her composure, trying for all her soul to look as if nothing weird had just happened. “I’m fine Doc. What were you just doing?” Penny asked timidly. “Putting on lipstick. Would you like to try?” Doc asked, knowing that this may be the break she was looking for. “Sure. But you put it on me, I... I can’t” Doc stepped around the desk and told Penny to pucker. She applied the lipstick and had her kiss off the excess on a tissue. “Want to see?” Doc asked reaching into her purse and opening the compact. As she turned so Penny could see her face and lips in the mirror, Penny screamed. She turned to run form the office. Again, that fast she was in full-panic mode. “It’s the mirror, it’s her reflection!!” Doc screamed to her self. “Of course.” Penny tripped over a chair, ran into the door and landed on the floor in a thump. She had cracked her head hard on the door to Doc’s office and was dazed. Doc threw herself to the floor, shut the door and grabbed Penny up into her arms. Holding her tight she lightly stroked her hair. As Penny came too, she flinched like she needed to run, run for her life. The she grabbed onto Doc and cried. Cried like never before. “You’re ok, Penny girl. Everything is going to be ok,” Doc whispered. “No, you don’t understand.” Penny sobbed. “Tell me, Penny, what don’t I understand? I want to understand you.” Through her sobs and tears, Penny whispered. “That night... when they died, when he came? I saw him. I saw him slash my mothers throat so hard that she couldn’t talk. I saw my father run to her and that man stab and slash my father. I saw his insides come out. All of it I saw in the reflection of the hall mirror.” “It’s ok, he can’t hurt you now,” Doc said trying to comfort Penny. “NO, you don’t understand. Every time I see a mirror, I can see him standing over them with blood dripping off of his knife and hands. Every time....” Penny trailed off into sobs again. Doc thought, of course, I’m such a fool. The room Lisa would have given her had a full length mirror on the back of the door. I’ll bet we find the same conditions in all of her failed foster families. Home Doc’s revelation and Penny’s confession that night lead to healing. Penny never did re-petition the courts to be on her own. Together, the two foster sisters worked through it. Penny’s still a little apprehensive of mirrors in long, dark halls, but now she can do her own make up and check her own outfits. Penny has been back to Lisa’s house many times now and they talked about that day. They laugh and laugh that a 90 pound, 16 year old brat was able to break Lisa’s arm. Penny’s in college now, studying business. When she comes home she stays at Doc’s. After all, they are sisters. |
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| The Reflection glenlee10@sky.com |
#3 of 7 Winner |
| 1798 words | |
| The woman checked her appearance for one final time
before leaving the hotel room. She tidied the already tidy collar of her beige,
silk blouse and smoothed her hands over her hips, making sure her sage-green
skirt was without wrinkles. The lapels of the matching jacket were straight but
she tugged at them nevertheless. She confirmed the earrings she had chosen went
with the outfit; the thin gold ones that accentuated her long neck, She pushed
an errant strand of blonde hair back from her face. It immediately swung
forward again. She grinned and shrugged. If anything, it softened her features.
Yet she was anything but soft. The Exhibition had been a good one. She had used her looks to charm, even seduce the customers, especially the middle-aged men, and her order book was full. It was time to go home and start work. She felt good. She knew she looked good and if she managed to bump into Jenkins of Deanes & Co in reception, there was still a chance she could squeeze an order out of him. She frowned. She hated to be bested. Even a small order would do. It was a dull day and the early drizzle was promising to turn into heavy rain. Suddenly, the lights flickered and there was a sharp crack of thunder overhead. The woman shrieked. The mirror reflected her startled face; wide, green eyes, and cherry-lined lips pulled into an outraged ‘O’. Her nostrils flared and her cheeks paled despite carefully applied makeup. The thunder was followed by a flash of lightening that lit up the room just as the lights went out. With a gasp, she turned from the mirror. She blinked. The lights came back on and she laughed. Fancy being frightened, she chided herself. She looked at her watch. It was time to go. She had a long drive ahead of her. She snatched up her handbag, grappled with the strap of her laptop and swinging it onto her shoulder, she left the room without a backward glance. Had she looked back, she might have noticed her reflection in the mirror; an errant strand of blonde hair swinging forward across a startled face with wide, green eyes, and cherry-lined lips pulled into an outraged ‘O’. Its nostrils were flared and its cheeks were pale underneath the carefully applied makeup. Slowly, the reflection’s features relaxed. The green eyes contracted to their usual size, the lips closed to a normal, cherry-lined mouth and the cheeks regained their natural glow. The image pushed the strand of hair away from its face and tucked it behind an ear, where it stayed put. “I don’t know why she didn’t think of something as simple as that,” the reflection grumbled, “rather than allowing it to cover half our face all the time.” It was talking to itself. It blinked. It looked out. It couldn’t see the woman. It gasped and blinked again. Slowly it raised its right hand. There was no corresponding movement opposite. It shook its head in disbelief. Its view was limited; part of an unmade bed, a screwed up tissue next to a waste bin, partly-opened curtains and the door into the bathroom. It was shut. The woman wasn’t in the room. It waited. She must be in the bathroom; she had to be somewhere around, surely? But when she didn’t appear, the reflection began to feel frightened. Abandoned! I’ve been abandoned, it thought Suddenly claustrophobic it clawed at the back of the mirror with red-painted nails, scratching frantically. I have to get out of here, it mouthed silently. A nail tore but despite a bleeding finger, it carried on tearing at the mirror until the frame gave at the bottom. The reflection fell from the mirror and slid on a draught to the television where it clung while its panic subsided. Static on the set helped it attach itself to the screen, which was still warm. The woman had gone. The laptop was missing so she wasn’t coming back. The reflection knew the machine well, knew how important it was to the woman. It had appeared on the black, mirrored face many times while the woman waited for the laptop to warm up. The reflection hung onto the television like a tortured cobweb and stared at the door through which the woman must have gone. Fear still twisted its face. The chambermaid who entered the room at that moment swore later that she had seen a ghost in Room 301. She squealed, backed from the room and ran screaming down the corridor, knocking over her trolley and scattering sachets of milk and shampoo across the patterned carpet. She left the door to the room wide open. The reflection seized its chance. Lifting on the warm air from a radiator, it glided through the door and latched onto a picture on the wall opposite. The reflection’s face was camouflaged by the floral print so was seen by neither the spotty, young man who represented the hotel management, nor by the frightened maid who followed him to Room 301. “I tell you it was a ghost.” The chambermaid refused to enter the room. “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” the young man said but shifted uneasily from one foot to the other by the open door. “You go on in then!” There was a lift nearby. Its door pinged open. The reflection wafted from the picture, over the heads of the two hotel guests who were getting from the lift. One of the men felt the breeze of its passing and wafted his hand across his face. “Cobwebs!” he protested. “You’d think with the money this place charges they could clean the place more efficiently.” The reflection flattened itself to the mirrored ceiling of the lift, in a corner. It tried to make itself as inconspicuous as possible. The maid’s screaming had unnerved it. The lift went up to the eighth floor. The door opened and an elderly woman entered, leaning heavily on a stick. A middle-aged woman followed her. The older of the two was grizzling about the standard of food in the hotel; the younger was trying hard to ignore her. She had to respond to an elbow in her ribs however. “Stop that, Mother.” She grumbled in turn. “And stop complaining. Someone might hear you.” “So what if they do? I’m entitled to my opinion, aren’t I? And the breakfast eggs were disgusting? Even you thought they were.” The reflection was distracted by the duo and when the door opened at Reception, it almost missed its chance to escape from the lift. The lift faced a marble pillar. There were no mirrored surfaces for the reflection to slide onto. The younger woman strode from the lift. The older woman took her time, jamming the end of her stick in the door just before it closed. With a strength that belied her age, she muscled through; giving the reflection time to drop onto the brooch the old woman wore on the lapel of her coat. The reflection scrunched itself up as small as it could and rode, jerkily, into the reception foyer. The woman was still in the foyer. She was shaking hands with a man and smiling. The reflection, desperate to reach her, looked round for a mirror. There was one. The woman and the man were standing in front of it but before the reflection could do anything, the old woman turned towards her daughter, demanding to know why she hadn’t been more helpful in the lift. All the reflection could see was the younger woman’s brown coat, stretched across an ample bosom. The daughter turned away from her mother and still arguing, the two moved slowly across the foyer towards the exit. From its perch on the brooch, the reflection saw her woman and the man part. The woman, heels clacking tidily on the marble floor, left the hotel via the revolving door. The reflection let go its hold on the brooch and glided the small distance to attach itself to the mirror. It was too stressed by now to notice how white the man went. He staggered. “No,” he gasped. “It’s not possible!” “Mr.Jenkins! Are you alright, sir?” One of the receptionists called to him. “Do you need to sit down? Are you unwell? Shall I fetch the First Aider?” The man shook his head and pulled himself together. It must have been a trick of the light, he told himself. How could he explain what he’d just seen otherwise? He had definitely not seen a woman walk past a mirror without having a reflection and she had most definitely not been followed by a sorrowful image of her face, which had not, most definitely not, attached itself to the mirror in her wake. “Only indigestion,” he murmured to the receptionist, waving away her intention to be helpful. He knew the woman from whom he’d just parted was something of a vamp but he couldn’t believe she was also a vampire. It was a trick of the light, he reassured himself again; something to do with the storm, no doubt. A taxi was waiting for a guest outside the hotel and the reflection was able to leave the foyer and slip through a louvered vent. The taxi-driver was too busy with his fare to notice the sad face with wide, green eyes and cherry-lined lips in his wing-mirror and by the time he came to start the engine and needed the mirror, the reflection had gone, slipping through the car park from wing mirror to wing mirror, until it caught up with the woman. The woman was smiling. Her plan to catch Jenkins and wring an order from him had worked. She’d known she could do it. She stowed her laptop in the boot, along with the suitcase she’d put there before breakfast. She opened the door, sat in the driver’s seat and swung her legs inside. The reflection followed. From habit, it knew where to go next, so was waiting when the woman peered into the rear-view mirror. The woman noticed she was frowning; that she looked uneasy. Then their eyes met. The connection was made and the frown dissolved. Wide, green eyes sparkled and cherry-lined lips smiled. An errant strand of blonde hair swung across her face. She inspected her appearance for a moment, and then tucked the hair behind her ear. I think, after all, that looks better, she thought. The rain had stopped and the thunder and lightening had disappeared by the time the woman, whole again, drove from the hotel car park. Driving along the motorway, she found herself sucking a sore finger. She noticed she’d broken the fingernail. She swore softly. She’d no idea how that had happened. |
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| The Reflection Ken Staley kstaley@gmail.com |
#4 of 7 |
| 2178 words | |
| Gold and red reflected from the choppy waves as the
breeze scudded across Lake Pontchartrain. General Darren Moss stood in the prow
of his bass boat and watched Big Easy die for a final time. Funny, he mused to
himself, the odd thoughts that cross one’s mind at the most inappropriate
of moments. All I can think about now is, there goes another 4th of July
fishing trip shot to hell. Varying shades of red, white, and yellow laced
the pitch-black clouds that rose from New Orleans and danced merrily on the
choppy water of Lake Pontchartrain, replacing the sunset with their own
horrifying colors. A fist-shaped mushroom cloud, the old city’s final
funeral bier, rose majestically. Try as he might, Darren couldn’t dismiss
the magnificence of the cancerous column. An unnatural stillness surrounded them considering the hell blooming in the South. For once, Darren was glad the lake was wide enough to hide the city and keep him far enough away so that only the echoes of the most violent explosions came that far. His ears still rang from the initial blast wave although he was easily 20 miles from ground zero. Floating in the middle Lake Pontchartrain, every sense on edge, he felt numb from the unimaginable violence represented by the incredibly beautiful reflection in the water. He shook his head, unwilling even to imagine what was happening to those still alive just beyond the southern horizon. “Bomb?” Henry Wallace asked. Five minutes had passed before either dared to speak, or move, or think. Henry’s quiet voice broke with a fear that Darren shared. Darren nodded an affirmative, afraid of his own voice. Even from this distance, Darren knew it had to be a nuclear weapon. No other device, man-made or natural, explained such a perfect mushroom shaped cloud – the concussion still pounded the inside his head. He’d seen gas explosions, even a refinery explosion. Neither had generated howling wind that snapped off trees, almost strong enough to sweep him off his feet. While only a construction engineer, as commander of the Louisiana National Guard, he’d had enough training to recognize the results of a low yield, field grade tactical nuclear device when he saw it. Henry’s voice cracked with another fear he couldn’t hide - another question Darren asked himself time and again over the last ten minutes. “Are we under attack?” Darren shook his head emphatically no. He wanted to be sure of something. “Lots of people hate this country,” he said, more to reassure himself than his fishing friend since childhood. “None of them pissed off enough to attack New Orleans. Leastwise, none that I ever heard about. Who gives a damn about New Orleans? Especially after the hurricanes.” “Are we safe here?” Henry voiced one more of Darren's concerns. “I don’t know,” Darren said. He wished he did know. Somehow his training in nuclear holocausts seemed painfully inadequate. His mind raced with so many details and problems that needed addressing instantly, the only way he could begin to process them was to find a place to be alone and just think. His college and grad school classes never included nuclear disasters as a topic, either. He thought they might be safe enough for now since the prevailing winds blew the smoke and ash towards Baton Rouge. Was it too early to worry about fall out? Too late? He didn’t know. An illness blossomed inside him like nothing he’d known before and he found himself choking back his gorge. Hundreds of thousands had to have died instantly – in a photo-quick flash, their history erased, scoured as clean as the French Quarter where they’d once lived. Darren stared at the fading colors, only to watch them burst anew as a gas pocket or filling station went up. His personal indulgence here was unforgivable. People, wounded, burned, dying, needed him and needed him to be rational and in command. But he couldn’t leave just yet. She would be one of those that vanished - evaporated like a mist burned off by a summer sunrise – his ex wife. He hadn’t seen her in eight years, since Katrina when he checked to see that she’d survived. Survived and thrived, one of the few who never left town and championed its rebuilding. There would be no rebuild now, nothing but scorched earth and a forbidden zone. Whap Whap Whap Whap Whap! Thundering across the sky, a fleet of helicopters skimmed the lake, banked over them and settled in the clearing of Slidell Park. Darren recognized their roar. For once he was glad that they’d spread the helicopter fleet around the state. He had learned hard lessons from the hurricane and smiled that his plans now bore fruit – the type which he never wanted to taste when the contingencies were laid down on paper. It would take a few days to get them all on location. He’d be ready by then, he was almost ready now. He didn’t have much more time to say this private eulogy to his ex. No punishment invented by man could ever atone for this, no death penalty, no gas chamber, no noose. Not even in-kind retribution could recompense what had to be happening just on the other side of the lake. Tears coursed down his cheek and he sat staring, unseeing, at his wrist watch, shaking it, forgetting for the moment. He shook his head violently, trying to clear away these self indulgent moments. “Does’t work?” Henry asked. Darren shook his head, wiping his tears on the back of his sleeve. “You’ll want to use mine?” Henry offered up an old Timex…simple, wind up, not susceptible to the EMP of a nuclear blast. Darren could not refuse, he needed a watch badly. The roar of another boat approaching broke him from his personal pity party. Lt. Colonel Jeff Deans, his second in command, sat in the prow of another pre-electronic ignition craft. They throttled back as they pulled along side. “What have you heard?” Darren asked, his command voice back. “How bad is it?” “Details are sketchy at best. Feds aren’t saying much. I get the impression they don’ know for squat themselves. I expect them to call here in a day or two,” Jeff said, looking at his notes. “They set off three, near as I can gather. From the blast zone, we think they were field tactical nukes, probably old Russian black market stock. We need to do a fly over as soon as possible but I wanted to clear it with you first. As near as we can tell, this one went off on the freeway along Interstate 10 just above the French Quarter. Most of that is steam from the sea water rushing in. We don’t know if its radio active or not yet.” “You said three. Where were the other two?” “Feds aren’t giving out much so we’re watchin’ CNN. We’ll have power generators goin’ shortly,” Jeff said again, carefully glancing at Henry. Darren nodded. “Los Angles. We hear the Hollywood sign is gone, so it must have been inside the bowl of that basin. The last seems to have gone off in Elliot Bay, just off shore from Seattle. The three big container ports in the country.” “Well, we got enough to worry about here,” Darren said. “Set up camp at the park there and commandeer the Park Office for a headquarters. Set out sentries but no rifles, I don’t want them to pose a threat. These people are going to be scared enough. Have Captain Howser be the information officer, we’ll bury him in the busy work he loves. We can expect refugees almost any time. Get the MASH set up behind headquarters when it gets here and an evacuation chopper ready to lift. Some of those coming out of that mess are going to need more help that we can give them. Set up a decontamination shower beside the MASH and get some of those disposable suits out of storage. They’ll need clothes and hats. Make sure decom shaves the head…we won’t have time for pretties.” His list of orders went on for five minutes, non stop. Of course there would be gaps, but he needed to get his mind focused again. This short trip would be the only break he was likely to get for some days or weeks to come. Even now he could envision the surge of refugees when the location of his small base leaked out. He sighed as he watched Jeff heading back towards shore and the job at hand. Another series of blasts echoed across the lake and lit up the Southern horizon again, a cosmic 4th of July dancing its colors off the lake. A smoky fist rose, a mock salute to the nuclear cloud still drifting in the wind, thousands of feet up. “That mess yonder going to be goin off for some time to come, I suspect,” Henry said with a dismissive wave towards New Orleans as his small boat started for the dock. “The good Lord will have his way. Warn’t nothin' but sin and rot in that mess over there. He done sent a few storms, but the ole girl stood up to him. Well, He done got the last word this time.” “Terrorists more likely,” Darren said, gently. “No faith, no god, justifies that inferno.” The old man stopped and stared at him for a moment, recognized Darren’s lack of faith and smiled, waving his doubts away. “You say,” he said. “Oh, them A-rab boys might think they got ideas of their own, but I say they were the instrument of Almighty God. They wasn’t nuttin' in that city anymore but whores and fruitcakes. Pansy men. The Lord done had enough and scoured that city clean. He done Sodomized that town good.” The old man stopped, shocked by his words. Then a smile broke across his face, displaying large white teeth. He chuckled softly, and then cackled loudly at his own joke. Darrin smiled as well, liking the old man more and more. Half an hour later they approached the new camp. Flags snapped in the fresh breeze of the winter morning. The stars and stripes, the flags of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Arkansas all snapped in the morning breeze. Helicopters rushed in and out of the area like angry wasps. Others rested in neat rows while fueling trucks fed their thirst. Hundreds of troops worked at adding to an already impressive large tent city. A MASH inflated as he watched in the distance, its red cross clear in the evening gloom. “Halt!” A guard stepped forward and challenged them. Darren was glad to see they hadn’t waited. Centuries were in place already. An hour later, Darren emerged from his tent, dressed in his ‘chocolate chip’ fatigues, which felt out of place but were all he had with him at the moment. Nostalgia, pity, all of these things he set aside, perhaps forever buried in the ashes of New Orleans. He was in command now. As far as he new, he was the command. He stepped to the table where someone had laid out a map of the area. Many of the places around New Orleans now had circles with red lines dashed through them.” “It’s gone, the Causeway,” Jeff Deans said. “What’s left is a mess of cars that died in the EMP. Reports say big pieces of the bridge cracked and fell in on the far side.” “Get a squad together,” Darren interrupted as he stepped forward. “Two if there are enough men available. We’re going to walk across as far as we can and try to establish a northern exit route. I want medics to come with us. Jeff, get a chopper up and see what’s happening at both ends of I-10. You’ll be in command here until I get back. Keep anything heavier than a small ATV off the bridge. “We can’t wait any longer,” he looked up, addressing the group at large now. Their commander. He had to do it now. “From experience, we know that whatever happens next is up to us to start right now. Let’s get to it.” Another wicked blast shook the site and the lake sparkled again with the merry reflection of red and gold. |
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| The Reflection Colin Campbell www.colincampbell.org |
#5 of 7 Runner-up |
| 53 words | |
| Phantom in the mist at dawn. Echo of a waking dream. Drifts away and soon is gone. Reflected in a different stream. Echo of a waking dream. Shadow fading in the light. Reflected in a different stream. Softly fading out of sight. Shadow fading in the light. Drifts away and soon is gone. Softly fading out of sight. Phantom in the mist at dawn. |
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| The Reflection lins.writing@yahoo.com |
#6 of 7 |
| 622 words | |
| Gram Mama I don’t know when I got this old. It seems like yesterday Jacob and I were sweethearts just been married; him so handsome and rugged with his whiskers just a startin’ to grow and me with such hopes of raising a family. Then sure enough, here comes those babies. First, little Sally, so tiny and fragile; made me almost afraid to pick her up. Now I look at her and can’t believe my eyes. So tall and straight, still full of the dickens, and her little Katie looked just like her, hardly a hair ‘till she was nearly two. Now…Katie’s Jasmine, is about to walk down that same aisle old Jacob and I did so many years ago. Grandma Sally Look at my ‘little’ Katie girl all grown with a daughter of her own getting married. What happened to the scrawny-legged baby with flaying arms and tiny, baldhead? I remember her first haircut when she was three years old. I only cut her bangs because the rest was still too short and I thought it should grow out more. Katie My goodness, where has the time gone? I can’t believe Jasmine is twenty-four and getting married. It seems like yesterday I was the one getting married. Next thing I’ll be Granny Kate. Oh, not going there yet! I want her to finish school first before they start a family. Jasmine Here I am, getting married. Jay is wonderful, in a few years he will be a great dad. I see Gram Mama made it and looks striking for a woman of eighty-four. I hope I’ll be that spry when I’m her age. There sits Grandma Sally, pushing sixty-eight and helping me so much in planning the wedding. She knew everything that needed doing and got me through it without batting an eye. And Mom; she’s putting up a strong front. I remember when I was five and she walked me to school the first day. “Don’t worry; I talked to Abby’s mom. She said Abby will be at school too.” I didn’t want Mom to leave, but when I saw Abby, I forgot all about Mom. I hope I never forget her again. She is my strength. I’m sure I’ll need it. She said to settle into a routine. I’m sure balancing school, work and home isn’t going to be easy. I hope I’ll listen more and talk less, like her. I’m thankful for all she’s said and for all she hasn’t. Reverend Manfred “We are gathered here today, to join this young couple in the bonds of holy matrimony. God has blessed me by allowing me to perform this union. As most of you know, Jasmine is my Great-granddaughter. Gram Mama Ida and I watched as each generation unfolded. Through the grace of God, and wisdom bestowed on us, we’ve traversed sixty years to this point in time. Ida, Sally, Katie, and now Jasmine, have brought joy into the many lives sitting here. Let us all reflect on what brought us to this juncture. Allow our thoughts and prayers to point toward their future and instill strength, guidance, and happiness. Let each of us be pillars of faith, hope and love in our Lord, enabling Him to direct them on this new path. Remember what it was like to stand here, before God, pledging your earthly love to your mate and placing your trust in the Lord to carry you through your sufferings and trials. Teach these young people through your example to rejoice in all things. That perseverance builds character; character hope, and hope doesn’t fail us. Because we know God poured His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us. Let us pray.” |
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| The Reflection Nancy J Schneider njswritingnook@yahoo.com |
#7 of 7 |
| 1586 words | |
| “What do you see when you look in the
mirror?” Lisa hesitated. “The reflection of my face?” The two sisters were sitting in a small café when Natalie posed the question. They tried to meet once a month for lunch just to stay in touch. Talk was usually centered around family issues, current work projects or general topics, but once in a while they got into serious discussions. From the look on Natalie‘s face, Lisa knew there was more coming. “Why? What do you see when you look in the mirror?” Natalie sighed. “I see Mom’s face looking back at me.” Lisa almost choked on a swallow of coffee. “Aw com’on, you don’t either. I mean, Mom’s way old.” “Yea, that’s the problem. I’m getting old. Looking in a mirror makes it a reality.” Lisa studied her sister’s face, then running her fingers down the side of her own face toward her chin she said, “Well, I can see a resemblance around the mouth, but other than that, you just look like Natalie. But we’re not exactly spring chickens you know. Neither of us will ever see sixty again.” “But I’m getting there faster.” “Well, you’re four years older than I am, so you’re supposed to get there sooner.” “But do I have to look old? What about Sis, she’s four years older than I am and she looks younger than you.” “I beg your pardon!” “Hah! When the shoe is on your foot it feels a bit different, doesn’t it?” “Is this turning into an argument?” asked Lisa. “You know better. It’s just that I took a good look in the mirror this morning, and I saw Mom’s face staring back at me. Normally I don’t dwell on looks or age, but for some reason this morning I did. I don’t mind getting old, but I’m not so sure I want to look old. And I sure as heck don‘t want to act old.” “So what’s the solution? A little Oil of Olay?” Lisa said, making a circular motion with her hand. “I think I’m w-a-y past Oil of Olay helping me.” “Botox injections or face lift?” Natalie responded in a “Duh” sort of way. “Needles.” Both women were silent for a moment, then, “How about no more looking in a mirror?” Lisa asked grinning. “That’s probably the best answer yet.” Natalie slowly shook her head. “I don’t understand why it bothered me so much today. I was hoping having lunch with you would chase away my ponderings of old age. Then one thing seemed to lead to another, and I can’t shake it.” “Like what?” “Like, well, seriously, have you ever wondered which one of the three of us will die first?” It was Lisa’s turn to look stupefied. “You came up with that because you looked in a mirror this morning?” “Well? Have you ever thought of it?” Lisa was quiet for several seconds, then said, “Yea, I’ve thought of it. But I don’t hang on to it. There’s nothing we can do about it, so why worry? All of us are ready for heaven, that’s the important thing, so I guess it doesn’t matter who dies first.” “Sure I’m ready for heaven, I’m just not sure I want to go there now,” Natalie said with conviction. “Besides, there are times I wonder if I’ll die before Les or if he’ll die before me, and then depending on which is which, I wonder if he dies first will I be able to handle things. There’s so much to running that old house, things I know nothing about, that I think I wouldn’t be able to do it. I know nothing about the furnace, and who would plow the drive or cut the grass, and what if something springs a leak...” “You got all that from your reflection in the mirror?” “No. One thing led to another and that’s why I’m in such a funk mood today. Probably caused by the depressing weather or something, I don’t know.” Just then the waitress came with their meals and conversation was halted. “Here you go, ladies. Can I get you anything else?” Both women shook their heads and thanked her. “Enjoy your meal then,” the waitress said, and off she went to the next table. After arranging their napkins and silverware, they bowed their heads for silent prayer. Then Natalie took a bite of the hamburger and let out a satisfied groan. “Umm, delicious.” Lisa followed her sister’s lead and took a bite of her sandwich. “Nothing like a good, greasy hamburger to set the mood right.” “If we continue to eat like this we won’t have to worry about who is going to die first. We’ll both go together.” “So we cheat once in a while, so what? It’s not like we eat like this very often. But it does bring back memories of when we were young and didn’t worry about cholesterol and fat and all the stuff that makes food taste good. You know the diet joke, if it tastes good, spit it out.” Natalie chewed on a French fry and said, “Maybe if I worried more back then what I was eating, I wouldn’t be so concerned now.” “Maybe if you asked Les to show you how to work the furnace and other things, then you wouldn’t worry as much about that either. Just ask him to show you or write down things you’d have to do ‘in case.’ And as far as the grass and snow, you’d probably have to hire someone to do that.” “Isn’t it funny how something simple can lead down a different path? I really don’t worry about these things, but I do think of them ever so often. I guess it’s because I’ve reached an age where these things are getting nearer or something. It really has nothing to do with looking older, it’s the reality that I’m getting old.” “Have you seen the advertisement for that new movie, ‘The Bucket List’ yet?” Lisa asked. “Yea, I’ve seen the ads and I think I’d like to see the movie.” “So, what would you put on your bucket list?” “I dunno, there really isn’t all that much I’d like to do that I haven’t already done. I’m not the most adventurous person you know. Bungee jumping surely wouldn’t be one of them and neither would sky diving. I like my feet on the ground, thank you.” “I think maybe I’d like to take a cruise ship adventure. Someplace exotic.” Lisa said wiggling her eyebrows. “Nope, not me. First of all you have to dress up fancy. Then there’s all that water.” Natalie shivered. “Can’t you picture Les on a cruise trip? He’d be trying to throw a fishing line over the side somewhere.” “Marv would probably like to take a space trip like an astronaut. I’ve read that some company or something will take you up into outer space for an astronomical price. I think Marv would like to do that.” “Your husband would be good at something like that. He’s always been interested in science fiction and outer space and stuff like that. Not Les, he doesn’t even like to look at the stars. As far as outer space, I‘m lucky I can get him to go to town shopping.” Lisa munched on her sandwich with a thoughtful look. “Wouldn’t it be something if we could actually afford to do things like that?” “Nah, I probably wouldn’t do it even if I had the money. I’m actually quite content with what we have. I do enjoy the trips we take, but we never do anything extreme. Out west and into Canada is as extreme as we‘ve been, but mostly camping somewhere close to home. We’ve had some good times and things have always worked out.” “See? You don’t have to worry and fret about getting old. As far as running the household if Les were to die first, that will all take care of itself, too. Plus we have The Big Guy on our side.” “While you’re right about that, don’t you think The Big Guy expects us to do our share of things, too? Like not eating all this fat and cholesterol? By eating it, aren’t we pushing Him?” “You trying to make me feel guilty?” “Nah, just speculating. I mean if we know this burger and fries aren’t in our best health interest and we eat it anyway, isn’t that testing Him?” Lisa popped the last French Fry into her mouth, then licked her fingers and said, “Nope, I don’t think so. The only way that would apply is if we ate nothing but fat and cholesterol and then said ’Okay God, it’s your job to take care of me cause I’m gonna eat what I want no matter what they say.’ Then it would be wrong. But to indulge ever so often? Nope, I don’t believe it is wrong.” “I don‘t either. And I did eat the lettuce and tomato so that must count for something.” The two women had finished their meal and were ready to leave when the waitress returned with their check. “Would you ladies like dessert?” she asked. Both said simultaneously, “No thank you,” then giggled. Guilt does strange things to an appetite. Out in the parking lot they each went to their own car. As they were leaving, Lisa called over her shoulder, “I’ll call you tomorrow. And Nat, don’t look in any more mirrors.” |
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"You're Too Loose"
The Aspiring Editors Club