My Own Mirror

Chapter 1

Janice

I remember the day as if it was yesterday. The day my father reached for the gun and killed every single one of my brothers and sisters, along with my mother and himself. I was hiding in the closet, he always forgot about me, but this time I'm glad he did.

I'm alone; nobody cares about me anymore, not like they did before, now the eerie silence is just too much for me to bear. I feel as if souls are still lingering here, like there is someone always following me, as if I'm not entirely alone. That made my body relax a bit, knowing I won't be alone forever.

Today I finally collected enough courage to go into my mother and my father's room.

I immediately went toward a large closet filled with necessities; including a large suitcase. My hand reached the dark suitcase and I pulled it out, so I can pack all of my parentsâ possessions.

I made my way to their room and pushed the door in. As soon as I walked in I found an old-fashioned mirror. It was a large, body-size mirror; many designs flourished the rims. It was beautiful, and quite...old. The first thought that came to my mind was:

This is old, and I haven't seen this before.

I had never usually gone into my parents' room, but since they died 2 months ago, I thought it was necessary to finally clear out their items. As I was clearing out my mother's dozens of shoes, I found an old dusty book. it had golden rims, and a faded red cover,  a large lock filled the middle of the cover. I messed with the lock for a few minutes, then put the large, mysterious book into my satchel and continued to clear out my parents' shoes and clothes.

As I continued to dig through my parents old belongings, every few minutes I felt a slight tingle to the side of my hip, where my satchel and the mysterious book was. I stood up from my crouching position, and instantly fell the to the ground in pain, the small tingle turned into a massive fire. The flames began to creep up to my stomach. The tears stung the corners of my eyes and I tried to yell in pain but nothing came out. A strangled gasp escaped my lips as I rolled onto my stomach. The pain shot throughout my body before I tore off my satchel off of my body. Slowly, the pain subsided and I closed my eyes in relief and sighed in freedom from the pain. I thought of the horrific stage I had just endured only a few moments earlier.

My body was still in shock from the pain I had just been the victim to. I sat up and looked toward the book, a strand of blood red hair was in front of my light green eyes. I whisked the hair out of my face and began to carefully crawl toward the glowing book. Thoughts raced through my mind as I picked up my brown satchel and shook it frantically, all of my possessions spilled onto the carpeted floor. I saw the dark red book and grasped it. I was prepared for the worst, but the worst never came. As my fingers wrapped around the corners of the book, I felt a dull tingle...of pleasure. A smile crept onto my face as I ran out of the room and went straight to my own room. Thousands of ideas were swirling in my mind as I pushed the door open into my room.

My open doorway was leaking in some of the light from the open window, and my frowning room quickly greeted me. Everything was dull and dark, but I loved it that way. I threw the book onto my room, but it never left my hand, it seemed glued to me. After a few minutes of trying to pry it off, I succeeded and threw it onto my black bed. The covers shook just a bit and I ran into my closet, and grabbed my thought notebook. I flipped to an open page and jumped onto my bed near the book and grabbed the pen out of the notebook rings and wrote the date:

Date: (MMM) (##) (YEAR)

Today I found a weird book in the middle of my parents' closet, it hurt me at first, and know it feel good to touch it...why?

Question: Why did the book feel pain in the beginning when it

was in my satchel, but when I felt it with skin contact...why did it bring me pleasure?

My eyes looked up to the right side of my face , and I began to think of my question. Why did it hurt me in the beginning? My thoughts wandered for a while and I noted every idea that bursted in my mind. My paper soon filled with mindless and pointless drawings and few ideas that I had thought of. My lips curled into a disappointed smirk as I opened a new page of my notebook and I ran my fingers through my hair and began writing everything correctly onto it. My pen never left my paper and

I wrote all of the ideas that seemed meaningful, and that may have been the answer to my challenging question. My conscience always told me that I might never get the answer, but there was no excuse not to try. 

The day turned into the night, and I knew that I had been in my room for hours, eating nothing and drinking only the water I had in my secret cache near my bed. The room seemed to dim and I felt my eyelids close in exhaust; I quickly opened them again and slowly closed my idea-filled notebook and pushed my pen back into the binding of the notebook. My feet were dragged on the carpet and I slowly made my way toward the closet. Shamelessly, I placed my notebook on the top shelf of my drawing and walked out.

My eyes went straight to my drawers, were I kept my loose tank tops and sweat pants. While I rubbed my eyes, I kicked off my converse and opened the drawer; taking out a baby blue tank top and some loose, black sweatpants and stripped off my black T-Shirt. I took off my bra and pulled the tank top over my torso and pulled down my skinny jeans, leaving me only in underwear. I kicked off the bottom of my pants and put my first foot into the sweatpants and pulled it up a bit, I did the same thing to my other foot and pulled them up to my waist and pulled my hair into a ponytail and jumped into my heavenly, warm, and comfortable bed then pulled the covers over my shoulders. My eyes closed again, but this time, I allowed it. My breathing was heavy; it was the only thing I could hear. Suddenly I was thrown into a deep sleep, not that I'm complaining.















Chapter 2

Jaxon

My body hit the floor as I groaned and rubbed my eyes, I had fallen off of my small bed. My eyes went toward the small bundle of possessions I had taken from my parents and my brothers after they had died. How could I have been so stupid? I should've gone with them...at least I wouldn't have been alone.
It was grandpa's birthday, I was excited to see him, but something came up and I could go which made me sad. My grandpa and I havenât seen each other for years, I was only 14 at the time, so I knew what missing that I had to visit him every once in a while before he dies. I accepted that one day my grandpa would die along with my grandma. He told me everyday in the letters he sent how much he missed grandma, what he misses about her. Their story always made me cry, I am pretty tough to break; but with my family I let tears be shed.

Dear Jaxon,
How are you my boy? I miss you so much, along with all of your siblings, mother, and father. I know, I told you that I would move on from grandma, but it has only been a few years. She died from that dang cancer...I wish I could hold her in my arms like we used to all the time. Help her stand when she was sitting, helping her eat because she was weak. She was my everything, Jaxon, except remember I will always love you, and especially your whole family. You have given me the gift of being able to see her everyday. I love the framed photograph of her that you made. Heck, it made an old man cry that day. My dear grandson, I hope you find the special one like I did. She was quite the woman; she was smart, funny, and the most beautiful woman in the world. Sadly, she had to pass away for me to open my eyes and miss her so dang much. My son, you will find your special one, she will be beautiful, kind-hearted, and amazing just like you. I love you my boy, and I love you Marcia.

With Love,
Grandpapa

This letter was the last one he sent before my whole family died on my grandpa's...and my own birthday. September 11, my birthday is now...unimportant to me. I sit in my house and stare at a wall on my birthday. I lost all of my friends because I never wanted to go anywhere, never wanted to do anything, I lost everything that day, and the feeling of emptiness haunts men especially on that horrible day.

I'm still on the floor, my legs up on the bed, my eyes were locked on one of the hundreds of cracks I have on my ceiling. My lips curled into a small frown, as I began to think about how horrific my family had died. They didn't deserve any of this. I deserved this, I didn't want to spend time with my own grandpa on his birthday. A single tear dripped down my cheek slowly, more tears made their way down my face. The more I thought about them, the more pain it brought me, but I was fine with it. Pain was my friend, misery was my company, and hatred was my love. Everything that could've gone wrong. Went. Wrong. My friends left me, my family was killed, my life is falling apart, how am I supposed to fix it alone? Will I ever find anyone to fill the void that stupid terrorist took? Will I ever be able to feel love from someone else ever again? She left me. My best friend left me. My family left me. I'm alone, and nothing can change that, not even a miracle... a shooting star. Nothing could change my past, my dreary and unforgettable past. Everything changed that day. My friends left me. My family left me. I have no one. Why is that? I couldn't just die with them.

After another hour pondering about my family and how much I wish I could be with them, I stood up and went into the bathroom to take a relaxing shower. Everything seemed to clear my mind when I was in my shower. My bathroom. This place seemed soâ¦normal for me. I go into the bathroom on a regular basis, and not just to use the bathroom. I can go in just to sit on the floor and just think about dozens of things at one time. My life has gone from amazing to horrible in just a day. My life revolved around my mind, I always seemed to be thinking, about something. My life, my family, how they were killed. My grandfather, my uncles, everyone. They didnât deserve this. They never deserved this. They were amazing, amazing people. I donât deserve to be standing this day. I deserve to be buried six feet in the ground. Salty tears ran down my cheeks, as I leaned against the wall of my shower, and ran my fingers through my hair. The water drizzled down my bare back, hot, painful, but enjoyable. The drops seemed to
flow in a single rhythm, in perfect harmony. My world seemed to revolve around thoughts. My mind, my heart. Everything is broken for me, how am I supposed to fix it without someone to help me? Maybe⦠Maybe I should just give up. For good.

The thought was taken under massive consideration, but being in Hell doesnât do anything for me. It makes me more miserable. The water slowly can to a stop as I turned the knob to the left, shutting it off. My hand reached out to the blue towel hanging on the curtain. As I wrapped the towel around my waist, a small drop of water dripped from the tip of my brown hair. I bit the inside of my cheek and turned to the mirror, in the bathroom. My reflection was looking back at me. Almost mocking how I look. The lifeless tattoo on the side of my stomach, a small painful tattoo, that slightly read Violetta. I bit my cheek, trying-noâ¦begging- the tears not to come, but they slightly escaped, and they came all at once. My dark eyes, making eye contact with the mirrorâs, the tears seemed to make me look vulnerable. But, I am.  My eyes wandered around the bathroom. Down to the cabinet. Should I do it? I kept biting down on the inside of my cheek, pondering if I should. Before my brain could persuade me not to, my hand reached the cabinet and I slightly opened the colorless cabinet. It shined in the small amount of sunshine drizzling through the window. My tongue dragged itself on my bottom lip, grasping the razor in my hand. I made my way toward the toilet, sitting down on the lid, with the towel still clinging to my waist. Once I set it down, I pulled my boxers up my legs. I let the towel fall down, and I pulled my shorts up, my shirt was sitting, almost looking at me. I grabbed the black tank top and pulled it over my shoulders. Shakily, I let out a small breath as I grabbed the razor, placed it on my left arm. My breath caught in my throat as I dragged it against my skin.


















Chapter 3

Janice

The sunlight leaked through my open window, blinding me for a moment. My legs were tangled in the blankets. My head was in an unusual position. As I licked my pale lips, my eyes slightly opened, the sunlight seemed to mock my sadness. I bit my lips and threw my legs to the side of my plush bed. Everything from the night before seemed to slap me in the face, with so much force. The book. I jumped out of my bed; I had forgotten to remove the book from my bed. It still lay on my bed, almost glaring at me. My hand shakily went to grab it but it jerked back with force. My eyes widened, because I didnât do that, something else did it. My teeth found my lip in a small, nervous bite. I wanted to turn, I wanted to yell, I wanted to run, but I just couldnât. My legs were frozen in place, my arm in the grasp of another, yet I donât know who it is.

Stupid Girl.

Something mumbled behind me, and my arms began shaking, the tears began to form, my legs started to cramp. I was going to have a panic attack any second. I pressed my lips together to stop from heavily breathing or gasping- or even whimpering. A small brush of air blew near my cheek, making me flinch. I mentally slapped myself for moving, but then it happened again. My hair moved a bit to the side and a slight tear drizzled down my flushed cheek. My teeth drew some blood from my lips and I mumbled a curse at my ignorance. A deep laughter filled the empty silence and I held back a whimper. A hand wrapped around my neck and I released a small whimper. Which only made him laugh more. Tears started flowing down my cheeks, dozens at a time. The blood was so strong; I tasted it on my tongue. My eyes went up to the ceiling, something seemed so different. What is it? My green eyes closed and I started to whisper a small prayer. A hand touched the center of my back, a slight gasp escaped my lips as it started to stroke my clothed back.

âWh-What do you want?â I mumbled under my breath, cursing myself for stuttering. A deep chuckle filled the empty silence as it removed its hand from my back. My body immediately relaxed as my shoulders lifted, trying to show strength. The air around me seemed to calm down as the breeze slowly subsided. In a few moments I was on the floor shaking and bawling. My hands wrapped around my head, protecting myself from any danger that would come lurking for me. The legs were numb, but only I knew they were shaking uncontrollably. The tears kept running down my light pink cheeks in choking sobs. My attempts to gasp for air only resulted in more tears. Choking back sobs made them come more easily and frequent. Everything on my body hurt,