Less than 24 hours after yesterday’s festival of fantasy, the fear that kept my teeth clinched all day erupted into a scream-filled time of terror, fear, and, somehow, learning.
After seeing what happened to Kevin, I was in no hurry to see what my own mirror would do. I have some horrible childhood memories of school, and I certainly didn’t want them resurfacing. So I did what any intellectual would do: I locked my mirror in my drawer.
I realize that the thing doesn’t have legs to walk around with or even arms to feel its way out of the dark drawer. But I wasn’t taking any chances.
So, I really thought my heart was going to burst through my chest when I was awakened before daybreak by a terrible, orange light filling my room. I sat up instinctively before my eyes came to rest on the drawer. Light spilled out of the seams surrounding its edges with space, and the entire dresser shook. Deodorants, sprays, and accessories tumbled from its top onto the floor. It was like a pressure cooker boiling at a frighteningly tight level.
And, like an over pressurized cooker, it exploded. Every drawer flew from the dresser, showering my room in a downpour of bras, panties, and feminine products. The last thing to be spewed from the quickly emptying dresser was the long box that held the mirror. It was when I saw it arching towards me that I realized it had been the source of the light. Like an indoor comet, the firey bright looking glass shot directly at my face. In its face was not a reflection of my room, but hundreds of thousands of images flashing every second it was suspended in the air. I had time to gasp before I blacked out.
When I woke up, I jumped nearly onto my feet before I realized that I didn’t have a headache. Neither had my skin been broken. My dresser was in one piece, assembled and filled with undies. But I knew.
I knew I hadn’t been dreaming.