Other side of The Mirror

Chapter Four: Suspicious Eyes

'In sweet sorrow, tears will fall, shattered hearts will break,

As lonely minds drift gently on, In silent sorrow wait.

Broken souls filled with pain, so many bitter sweet,

Silent footsteps on treacherous roads, until sweet death they meet.'

Chapter Four: Suspicious Eyes

Opening her eyes Leighton felt disorientated as the words of the poem faded into her mind, forced back behind the safety net that was her weakening sanity. The smell of cooked smoked bacon assaulted her senses awakening fond memories of food that caused her mouth to suddenly water. Since living in this existence she had not eaten or drank anything having no desire for either, now the floodgates opened releasing a sea of hunger that made her feel sick.

A high pitched whistle broke the silence. Sitting bolt upright she saw the source of the noise boiling over on a small two ring stove. Next to the rusty battered camping kettle was a charred frying pan that sizzled and spat in harmony with the escaping steam. Leighton wondered who was cooking. 'Did reflections cook?' An almighty crash followed by a string of profanities that froze her solid. 'Someone was here; now!'

A garden could be seen out the window that was big enough to escape through but something held her back. Another bout of language as colourful as the blue sky outside danced through the air. Footsteps pounded angrily and a sudden urge to hide had her crawling along the back wall, with fear gnawing at her gut she hid behind a stack of boxes.

Cursing loudly the dark haired boy she had seen on the street marched in quickly wrapping a rag around his hand. Stifling a gasp with her hands Leighton watched him dash to the stove removing the boiling kettle with his rag covered hand protecting his flesh from the bare metal handle. Turning his attention to the frying pan he turned the bacon over mumbling something incoherent.

'He was real! But how?' Excited thoughts tangoed with doubts on her sanity, made more torturous by the smell of sizzling bacon. She watched him move and place some between two slices of roughly cut bread. Everything inside screamed at Leighton that something was not right but she was too distracted by the stream of black coffee he now poured into a chipped mug. She recalled the taste of coffee being quite bitter but right now as her throat constricted all she wanted was to drink the precious nectar; as though it was a possible step closer to home.

Studying him from the safety of her hideout Leighton wondered who he was. His black hair was cut short at the neck but longer lengths at the crown fell forward hiding his face. It was a rough chop as though he had hacked at it himself. Somehow the style suited him.

A loud rumble circled around her stomach in a desperate search for the source of its torment.

“If you insist on eating behind the boxes you can come and get it yourself!” said a deep soothing voice.

Leighton flinched, her mind going numb as he spoke again the sound invading her skin. He turned round to face her and she was lost; dark lashes fanned across sea blue eyes that had she not been holding her breath in the first place would have been whipped from her lungs without a moment’s grace.

“There’s no waiter service around here.”

With her blood boiling hotter that the camping stove flame Leighton willed her body to respond. Wobbly legs stood up straight as she focused on one step at a time. Putting her strange dizziness down to hunger and relief she came to kneel at the boy’s side as he shoved a chipped plate in front of her; the wonky bread sandwich was the most appetising thing she had ever seen. Leighton noticed his scarred hands.