White Aprons

Chapter 1

"Chin up, don't smile, eyes down, mouth closed."

Mother looks at me with her blue eyes, which remind me of a lake frozen over in the winter. I turn away mine and focus on the thick wooden door behind her delicate head, trying desperately to tune out of the conversation we have had numerous times before. As I wait for mother to finish tying my knotted brown hair back, I think of all the other places we have served. All the people. All the characters. All the personalities. I wonder if our new masters will be kind and warmhearted or cold and stern. There is no in between. Every move mother says, 'This is the one.' It never is. I don't quite understand what she means by "the one", but I know it's always wrong anyway.

I shift my gaze out to the window pouring in light. The colors of the rays are purple and red and orange; all mixed together as if reflecting off of the flowers outside. I can feel the warmth of the early hour wrap around me and I close my eyes for a savoring moment to soak it all in. The household we just arrived from was in a cold town high up in the mountains. I'm sure glad I dropped that plate.

Mother finishes off a worthless excuse for a bun with a silk white ribbon, and securely ties it in place. She stares at me again with those eyes and I just can't help to not stare back.

"This is the one, Sarah, I just know it." She gives me a weak attempt at a smile, but even she now knows her words are nothing but just that; words. She strokes my hair and tells me the schedule for the day and makes sure to go over it twice. As the door closes behind her, I am left in the center of the musty room, surrounded by four stone walls
pressing the cold against my body.

The light from the window moves back and forth, as if too nervous to stay in one spot for long. The wind rustles the curtains and the light flashes over the mirror, revealing the dust covering its surface. I step closer until my nose is almost pressed against the cool glass. I just want to fall into its depth and see the world from the other side of the frame. Maybe things will be clearer to me then. I have a theory that as a small child, I accidentally stumbled into a mirror and disappeared to the other side and couldn't return. It would make so much sense of why my world is backwards and distorted. No matter how hard I try to shatter the glass, its indestructible surface won't break to my touch. Not even a single crack.

I shake my head. I daydream too much. I have to stop listening to those tellers. They like to tell an awful lot and I always stop to listen. Their stories, however, are very attracting to a young girl who fell through a mirror.