Mirrors

Judge Me

 A/N: Sorry I hadn't written anything. I feel really bad. I'll try my best to upload next weekend. 

Chapter Fifteen:

Judge Me

The objects floated all around me, moving around clockwise. The longer they swirled around me, the closer they got. Each one had a turn to touch my skin, bumping my shoulder. I was joining a tango with these objects, as music suddenly began to vibrate throughout the water. A magical vibe, inclining in beat and drowning out the attention-hungry voices off into the background. The bass and drums beat into my heart. The guitar in riveting, hypnotic tunes. A powerful but calm voice rang in my ear, piecing the notes together all in her own. It was a masterpiece playing with all its heart. It made me want to move.

The music came from behind me, where the mirror stood. A scene played right on the mirror, showing a woman in a studio with her band. She wore a red dress covered in thin layers of cloth. Her arms moved, her face changing expression; she was in a trance, passionate with every note that spilled out of her beautiful lips. This woman was my favorite artist: Kimbra. Playing right before me was a video I replayed over and over again.

Why was it playing?

The clear picture made me smile; how I coveted to see her. The mirror began to spiral into a black hole, pulling me in. The objects followed me, going in all at once.

My Grandmother, Katrina, and I sat silently sat in the library of her house. The ponograph played a soothing saxophone, on its own with only silence as its background singer. Little Irene was laying on her stomach, with a crayon on one hand and a sketchpad on the other. This was about a year after Shane had been released from prison, therefore little Irene must be about ten years old.

An Oriental rug spread across the room. All the walls, except for the door, were covered with books separated by genres. A fireplace stood on one wall, with fire blazing and smoke rising up the hearth. A single, red recliner chair stood one side of the small room. A side desk stood next to the chair; a lamp with a yellow orange light lit up. Grandma was sitting on a chair, reading one of her more romantic novels.

“Look Grandma!” little Irene exclaimed, interrupting her from her reading. She handed Grandma her completed coloring of a drawing she had drawn. It was a fairy sitting on top of a flower’s petals.

Grandma stared at the picture and smiled. “That’s lovely, dear. Have you taken up painting like I told you?”

Little nodded in response. “I’m still not that good though.”

“Well,” Grandma Katrina answered, “if you get good enough, I might get you a whole set of painting supplies.”

“That’s cool!” little Irene replied, hugging Grandma. After the hug, she immediately dove onto the floor to make more drawings. The very thought of getting more art supplies had given her inspiration.

No matter how much bullying I had went through, I couldn’t help but keep smiling and keep staying happy. Though the hate had already spread throughout my soul like a disease, I still managed to pull myself together and make friends. These friends were happy with who I was, knowing whatever happened to me wasn’t my fault. They fought for me whenever the occasion arises. That was all that I needed.

Jaren had completely ignored me, trying his best to avoid me when we’re in the same room. During family events, he would gather up all his nerve to stay out of my way. When my mom asked him what was the matter, he answered with a frank reply. “We’re just growing apart,” he would say. “That’s all.”

It wasn’t just that. Everyone knew he kept everything to himself—even his anger at times no matter how much it could prove difficult. He would look at me like I was a bug; he couldn’t take a moment’s glance without retreating into a frown. How had it come to this? We were so close.