The Secrets of Death

chapter eight - mind tricks

Tomorra POV

Everything was wrong. The first thing I notice was that under me was softness that I had never felt in my whole life.  It reminded me of clouds to frank, fluffy and comfy but solid enough to hold you in it preventing you from an endless fall. Silk sheets covered my body in a cocoon and I was not in the last place I remember.

A cage.

With Lisa above me.

I pealed my heavy eyelids open to look around and was scared shitless at what I saw. I was in a room, a nice room, a room that I dreamed about waking up in when I was little.  The walls were a light gold colour and cherry red furniture littered the space. To one side of the room there was a set off draws with small glass ornaments lined neatly on top of it and directly opposite there was a desk that would have been as big as my old room. Beside that was a window that looked like it led out to a balcony. I look at the space I had been sleeping and was currently sited in. it was a king size bed was made out of……..fucking clouds! I scrambled out of the thing and backed away quickly. What the fuck is happening? As I cursed and started to freak out about the cloud bed I realised something. I didn’t feel normal. Um, no wait, that didn’t come out right, I meant that I didn’t feel the same way anymore. I felt stronger, no longer weak and fragile but physical strong for a change, which I am unused to these days, but it wasn’t just that. I felt mental capable of handling this. Not once since my dad died have I felt like this. I guess after the fire when I was six I started to slip but after dad, I don’t know, I just crashed.  It wasn’t only my physical strength and mental state that had me star struck it was the way I was moving. When I walk around I’ve had trouble, because of all the broken bones and injuries I wasn’t able to walk propyl. My knees would pop in and out of place and sometimes they would just give out altogether but now there is no sign of that.  I had real legs that worked! As I stopped moving away from the cloud bed I caught sight of a mirror. Holy cow. I know why I feel different; cause I’m not me. The refection that looks back at me is one I’ve never seen before. The girl in the mirror has snow white hair and shifting colour eyes for black, silver and green with a slick sparkle. Ah that’s weird, but their so pretty; I think I can overlook the weirdness. Her lips are full and pink and her checks have a light pink tint to them. Her skin was milky white and seemed to shine like diamonds. I looked at her face the most because it was the most unbelievable thing I have seen. There were no marks on her face, no scratches or cuts from fights and there was no sign of pain behind her eyes.  I step closer and so did she until we were only an inch away from each side of the mirror.  I put my hand to the glass and saw that it was no longer bony and thin but a normal hand. The girl on the other side of the mirror did the same and smiled just like me, because, it was me. In this situation I would usually be filled with panic and fear but not anymore; wonder flowed through me wanting to know the unknown. I felt comfortable in this skin, like I could pull out some of those kick ass moves I learnt in my defence classes. I remember my mum would make me so weak before she bashed me so I couldn’t fight back. Fury raised from deep in my soul. She took my childhood away from me. Blamed me for dad. She hurt me over and over again. Nothing in this world would make me happier to take away something precious from her and destroy it. A devilish smirk was smeared on my new perfect face. I could do it. Right here, right now.  I felt a tingle in my fingertips, like fire was licking at them but only enough to give a warm feeling to them. I saw an object starting to appear in my hand that looked like a big set of shears. I watched as the object took a solid form in one hand as a spiral of wind produced a glowing thread no bigger than my forearm in the other.  I looked at the thread wondering what it was, until it begun to shine brighter. Images of a life flash in my mind of a young boy in his mother’s arms. Another of him on a bike that he got for his seventh birthday, his on it with his dad helping him to learning to ride it. Next I see the boy at a funeral. More images run around my head until they stop on a recent image of him as a fifteen year old, his mother is saying good night to him smiling lovely at him.  “I love you” she whispers and closes the door, and I know who that boy is. His my little brother Gab.