The Mirror

Chapter 2 Another Day Another Punishment

Kirsten's POV
My black leather boots found themselves walking up my aunt's gravel driveway. I was dressed in a purple half top with a short white skirt--a sign of rebellion. I despised my aunt, but I had no choice but to spend all eternity with her since I had no family left to care for me...with the exception of my grandma.
Her point of view was that that my actions were both rude and uncalled for after my mom...and now dad's death, so she sent me to my aunt's house to spend time away from the city. My aunt was a petite, uptight woman who, I already sensed, did not like my presence...or my outrageous teenage outfit when I exited the car.

I could not understand how in just a two months, my entire life had descended down a stairwell of darkness to hell. My light blonde curls bounced as I walked with a strait face past my aunt and into the house, heading up the old, rickety staircase to unpack. What more could you expect from an ugly farmhouse built in the 1930's?

It seemed as if my aunt, who had been commonly called Lina by our family, had no sympathy for her depressed niece. She stared at me with an impassive look on her face during dinner. "Kirsten-- I do not want any attitude now that you are here. I am sure you are aware that I do appreciate you doing your share of chores. You may not go into the shed-- it has been locked up for years, and you know where else you are not permitted to be in and out of this house." Her words hit me smack in the face like a massive gust of wind, and all I could think about was that my aunt had seemed to have forgotten her brother committed suicide five days ago.

The disappointed look in her eyes when she glanced at me proved to the world that she hated me, and it all began years ago because of a stupid argument. Our feelings for each other had gotten worse since that day.
"Going into your room to play tag was defiantly the crime of the century, wasn't it?" I asked sarcastically, testing to see if she could recall how it had all began....the day I broke the picture frame that held the memories of her deceased cousin and two other valuable items. I noticed her glare at me, and then the hurricane of words smacked me in the face...and some awful breath. "Go upstairs now! I know why you dressed the way you did! I know you write derogatory poems about me! I know you hate me! Your father was insane-- and you turned out to be just the same! Who would volunteer to care for a spoiled brat who has hated me all her life? Upstairs... now!" Lina yelled, which I immediately decided was what I was going to address her as--Lina.

Our bond had grown apart when my energetic personality got the best of me... WHEN I WAS SEVEN... and ever since then we had countless fights.

I felt a hollow feeling, which quickly exited my body as I slammed the chair back into the wall, breaking the wood holding the chair together and denting the hideous mustard-yellow wall. I stormed up the old stairs, aware that a massive cloud of dust would probably fall directly on my aunt's... I'm sorry... LINA'S floor from the, what I considered, extremely unsafe stairwell.

She had no idea what it felt like to lose both your parents within two months and experience the utter depression all in the same packaged deal. I sometimes cannot control my own actions, but I now felt like the whole universe had slammed its door shut, blocking me out from others. Why can't people understand that because of the struggles I deal with, there will be that occasional curse... that occasional fight. Was I really a mischievous, stereotypical teenager who people can't stand? HOW COULD NO ONE SEE I NEEDED SOMEONE TO HELP ME?! !I knew that I normally behaved, and at a time like this, SOMEONE would usually help me get through it. Something was not right. My family was not supporting me, which I was always taught to do. What Lina had said to me was just... different, almost as if someone or something had possessed her. I prayed that she would regret what she had said.

Waving away the the thought that Lina was starting to feel sorry about her words, I walked to the doorway furthest from the stairs, curiosity getting the best of me.

The old wooden door creaked open and I cautiously and quietly stepped inside and closed it, for I was not in the mood for Lina to discover me avoiding her, and I did not want a lecture. I did not immediately recognize that this was my room because of the lack of effort Lina put into preparing it at all.

In my 14 by 18 foot room, an uncomfortable bed without sheets or blankets, a rocking chair, a dusty jewelry box, and a mirror awaited.