The Mirror
I stared at the cardboard box with a mixture of emotion; longing, sadness, and suspicion. It was quite small, about the the size of a shoebox. There was a note attached to the top and written in elegant cursive was It was your Grandmother's.
I picked up the box and gave it a tentative shake. Something quite heavy rattled inside. I wanted to open it up, but who with any bit of sense opened up random packages left on your doorstep? And especially packages that clearly hadn't been delivered by the postal service; there was no return address or any indication of who had sent the mysterious box.
I read the note again and my heart clenched. My Grandmother had died two years ago and I missed her more than anything else in the world. We had had a very special connection and I thought she was the one person in the world who ever truly understood me and was ever going to understand me.
I desperately wanted to open the box, anything that belonged to my Grandmother was like a little piece of her and I missed her so, so much.Tears came to my eyes whenever I thought about how much I missed her and like always, they didn't fail to now. I hastily wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.
In a moment of sudden desperation, I tore my fingers through the tape holding the top of the box closed. I had to open it, I just had to. Whatever in here had been my Grandmother's and I just had to have it.
I opened the cardboard flaps carefully and revealed the object inside. For a few moments, I was confused looking at it. It wasn't something I recognized with instant recognition.
I picked the object up and turned it over in my hands. My own face stared back at me, with ashy blonde hair straight as a pin and pale green eyes, set into a small pale face. Now I knew what it was. It was now quite obvious what it was; an old-fashioned silver-backed hand mirror. I now knew why the box and the mirror itself was so heavy; it appeared to be made of solid untarnished silver. Turning the mirror over once more, I examined the decorative swirls and roses that had been etched into the back.
I did not recall ever having seen this mirror. It looked to be some ancient family heirloom and I was a bit confused as to why I had never seen it before or why it had not been part of my Grandmother's will; it looked to be valuable. I had spent many hours of my childhood at my Grandmother's house and had always been examining her collection of antiques and interesting items. I remembered how she used to always bake cookies and I would help. I remembered playing card games and how we would just chat for hours, holding cups of tea and laughing. In the spring and summer, I would help her tend to her gardens, pruning her hedges and caring for a variety of colourful flowers.
Tears started again, flowing silently down my cheeks and spilling onto the old mirror.
I sat down wearily in an armchair by the fireplace, staring sadly into the fire. An image came immediately into my head; kind, wrinkled face, wide smile, and short curly white hair. My Grandmother's gentle, twinkling blue eyes. I was a bit surprised at myself because I seemed to remember my Grandmother's face with surprising accuracy. Every detail- even ones that had become fuzzy in my head after the years that followed her death- were present.
Suddenly, I realized that the image of my Grandmother's face was not in my head, but reflected back on the mirror. I gasped, I had been staring at it and not realizing. I held the mirror closer, and watched as my Grandmother stared back at me perfectly clear. Now she appeared to be laughing, although there was no sound.
"Grandma", I whispered, the tears coming faster now. They dropped silently on to the mirror that I held with both hands directly in front of me. There was no reply; however, I hadn't expected one. The fact that I could just see my Grandmother as if she were really in front of me, was magical enough.
I silently thanked whoever had sent me the mirror. This mirror had been my Grandmother's, maybe she had given it to a trusting friend to hand down to me when she died. It made sense, didn't it? Although why my Grandmother would have an ancient magical hand mirror was a bit of a mystery to me. I pushed the thought aside.
Fascinated, I lost track of all the hours as I stared into the mirror. I was crying no longer, and for an odd reason I was filled with joy by looking into the mirror at my Grandmother. She looked so happy and so carefree. The mirror began to show different images of my Grandmother. Now she was depicted in her garden, tending to her prize-winning orchids, with blue sky and the morning light shining behind her.
The image in the mirror shifted. I was now looking at my Grandmother baking her famous gingerbread. It was Christmas time, not doubt. Through the kitchen windows I could see snow falling softly to the ground and also bright red and green lights strung on evergreen trees.
Once again, the image shifted. At first, I couldn't exactly tell what was happening. Two figures walked along a country lane, one taller and the other shorter, both skinny. As they began to walk closer in the mirror, I could see one was my Grandmother, but I couldn't quite make out the other figure. Suddenly, with a jolt of surprise I realized it was me around the age of seven. My face was a lot rounder and my blonde hair was very long and I had bangs that fell into my same green eyes. My Grandmother held my hand and we were chatting happily, moving slowly along the road lined with wildflowers. Fluffy clouds were visible in the light blue sky. I felt a pang of sadness and grief. It looked so perfect and happy and wonderful.
The image progressed to the parlor in what used to be my Grandmother's house. I saw an older version of myself, who seemed to be having quite an intellectual conversation with my Grandmother while playing a card game. Steaming mugs of tea sat on the small round antique table, and through the picture windows I could see that it was raining heavily outside, the clouds and sky a stormy gray. I could almost hear the rain myself. I stared at the image with immense longing. I wanted to be there with my Grandmother more than anywhere else in the world.
I gasped. The image of myself was now beckoning to me, smiling and looking as happy as I had ever seen anyone. 'Come join us' she seemed to say, and if she could talk I imagine that's what she would have said.
A powerful thought gripped my mind, and it wasn't my own. Come Arianna and join us, you know you want to. It was the image of myself talking in my head. I could tell because in the image she appeared to be mouthing the words. It would be so easy Arianna.
It would be easy, I thought to myself. All I would have to do was die. The thought of death didn't bother me. If death was that happy and joyful, I truly wanted to go there. I wanted to join them.
I seemed to stand up from the armchair without realizing it. I still gripped the mirror, it felt extremely heavy and leaden. A part of me vaguely noticed that my arm ached. My feet moved of their own accord and I was suddenly in the kitchen, holding a large butcher knife. I looked down to see it pointed at my own heart.
Just one thrust Arianna, said myself from the mirror. That's all it takes. I took a deep breath and suddenly everything felt very wrong. My hand, where it touched the mirror, burned. I screamed. My whole body was in agony. My head throbbed and every part of me felt like it was burning. But I had to do it, I just had to. I was possessed by myself in the mirror, possessed by something that I wanted too much.
Before I could move the hand gripping the knife a centimeter, the mirror was torn from my hand and flung on the counter. A crack went through it, straight down the middle, distorting the image I had wanted to be real so much.
I dropped the knife with a clatter and whirled around, looking to see what invisible force had taken the mirror from my grip. I saw nothing that would explain what had just happened, but as I looked around again, I unmistakably saw a flash of a pair of twinkling, kind blue eyes. And I suddenly knew.
I turned around and picked up the mirror slowly, closing my eyes as to not see the image. And with as much strength as I could muster, I threw the mirror to the floor, where it instantly shattered into a million pieces. Where it could never trouble another soul again.
