The next time you see the kid, you almost don't recognise them.
Their hair is cut short and dyed a shade of brown entirely different from the gold-blond they used to sport and their clothes are more boyish, a batman logo covering the kids t-shirt.
Despite this the kid looks far from happy, tears track down their face as they stare at their feet and their arms are wrapped tight around their body.
I choked sob startles you and you look up to see the kid staring up at you. It's the first time this has happened since the time in the library.
Maybe they grew up, you ponder. Maybe after the library they couldn't see you anymore, like you were a figment of their imagination.
What kind of kid has to grow up and see life the way it really is at that age?
The kid sobs again, collapsing on the bed that's no longer in the corner of the room and you long to reach out and wrap them up in your arms -tell them everything's all right- but you can't move.
It's like you're trapped.
Trapped.
Like the kid.
You take another look at the kid and you know. This isn't the little girl you saw in front of the school all that time ago. They don't have that childish innocence anymore.
Looking at the teen in comparison to the little girl from before, it's almost impossible to tell they're the same person.
Maybe they're not anymore.
Your inability to move means that you're forced to watch as the teens shaking subsides and their exhausted body slowly eases into sleep. Only then does their body relax, aching muscles losing tension.
As the kid's consciousness fades, so does yours.
The flames of familiarity continue their path up the match, the fire completely consuming the wood.
The flames sputter out.
Then the scene is gone.
YOU ARE READING
The Looking Glass
Short Story- "You open your eyes to a mirror this time. There are more mirrors adorning the walls and, craning your head back, more on the ceiling. For a moment you think the kid is there, staring you in the eyes. But you move. And the boy in the mirror foll...
