The Sprout

The Mirror - Part Three

Posted by Faymondo:) from Cardiff - Published on 14/09/2010 at 08:56
2 comments » - Tagged as Creative Writing

Tweet

The Mirror - Part One
The Mirror - Part Two

I almost ran up the broken staircase, while Mum and Dad unloaded some of the things from the car. It was only as I got to the top of the stairs, did I notice that the disaster carried on up through the house. The floor was covered in ripped carpet and the walls had wonky pictures and mouldy pink wallpaper plastering them. I exhaled loudly. There were three rooms from what I could see.

One by one as I went into each room, I had to quickly walk back out again as the stench of damp and mould was too overwhelming. I gathered what each of the room’s purpose was, a bathroom, a master bedroom and a smaller room, that I decided would be mine. As each room I ventured into passed, my mood sagged even more if that was possible. I decided to have a more thorough look in my room. I sat in the middle of the floor and gazed around it.

That’s when I noticed this door, other than the entrance one. I got up slowly from my position on the floor, and edged towards it. Wow, imagine if it’s a walk in wardrobe, or even better an empty room with rows and rows of bookcases. My curiosity side instantly took over as I entered the room, closing the door quietly behind me. I flicked on the light switch, and to my disappointment there weren’t rows of bookshelves, but instead, what seemed to be another room. My hand ran across the ornaments, covering in dust as I got further around it.

My lungs felt heavy and my mouth became dry as the air was thick with dust and was stuffy from not being aired out with oxygen or a cool breeze. I was starting to wish that I’d left the door open, as I‘d closed it so nobody could find me. It was really dark too, only a dim light coming from the delicate lampshade that hung from the ceiling. There was a four poster bed located at the side with a purple rose rug centred in the middle. Obviously it hadn’t been in use for a few years, if the dust was any sign that layered the bed like a blanket.

That’s when I realized that the room was plastered with photos of someone that I didn’t recognize. It was a boy, about 17, near my age at least. I walked towards the largest photo and studied it. The boy had dark brown eyes, that seemed to hold a deep, dark secret and they were outlined with butterfly lashes. His nose gently sloped down the centre of his face with full lips that were creasing into a slightly wonky, almost knowing smile, forming his chiselled cheekbones. His hair was a rich chocolate colour and had a messy look to it and it flicked at the sides; almost giving him the effect of a halo. The photo looked like he was looking right at me.

I felt myself blushing and then told myself off for being so foolish. But no matter how much I tried to examine the rest of the room, this mysterious boy had all my attention. I looked right into his eyes, and followed the direction of his gaze. Directly opposite from him was a rather large mirror that covered most of the side wall. A crease line formed between my eyes and forehead, as I tried to remember if the mirror had been there before. I walked towards the mirror and reached out to touch the intricate design that ran round the outside. I blew the dust that covered the designs and the actual glass and found that the mirror was clear as crystal, with a wood design around the outside. Carved into the wood were symbols that I didn’t recognise.

My eyes became blurry with water as the dust finally reached into my eyes. I wiped the tear away with the back of my hand. When I looked back at the boy, I then noticed the other photos of him. Small ones and big ones with the one that I’d examined in the centre of them. They were all of him, but then I noticed the sticky notes plastered on them. The words ‘Lost’, ‘Seen’, and lots of dates and question marks and other words were written all over the sticky notes and photos. Why were there photos of a boy that was obviously missing, all over the walls of this particular room? Also why was it as if the boy was showing her the mirror? What was the significance of that?

While I was deep in thought, I could hear my Mum calling me. A sudden panic ran through me. I didn’t want them to find this room. They would only be nosy and would probably take all the photos down. Before they could do this I wanted to find out more about this boy.

News » Categories » Creative Writing

IMAGE: Rearviewmirror by fritzon