Fear Essay

Mirrors

For a long time, almost as long as I can remember, I have been afraid of mirrors. This fear was spawned from things such as the “Bloody Mary” trick, where you were supposed to turn off the bathroom lights and spin around, saying “Bloody Mary” three times, to make her show up in the mirror behind you with a knife when you turned the lights back on. I never tried, and I always adamantly refused to do so. This fear was made even stronger when I entered the stage of my life where watching horror movies became entertaining to me. A strong majority of horror movies have a bathroom scene and, within said scene, something frightening happens either involving the shower or the mirror. Now I will be doing something completely normal, like brushing my teeth, and when I lean down to spit out the toothpaste, I always expect to see something behind me when I come back up.
            

“Fears are educated into us, and can, if we wish, be educated out.” (Edberg) Children aren’t afraid. There is a time period where we are so young and so innocent that we are simply curious. We wonder what the hairy thing with all the legs is, and when we ask our mother, we receive screaming and fright as an answer. Fear is something our parents teach us just as much as they teach us the language we speak. It isn’t something we are born with, simply because we have to know what something is, at least somewhat, to know to be afraid of it. The only exceptions to that are supernatural events, death, and the fear of the unknown.

“Curiosity will conquer fear even more than bravery will.” (Edberg) As stated previously, children are simply curious. That curiosity they possess so innocently is what, in a sense, protects them from fear. They just want to know what things are and to learn more about the world from that. Eventually a mother’s reprimanding will reach a point, psychologically, where the children become afraid. Hearing “don’t talk to strangers” over and over again implies that there is something wrong with strangers, that something bad will happen if you talk to them. The truth of the matter is that most strangers are probably not trying to harm you, but we have learned that it is better to be afraid of them than to risk said stranger being a serial killer or rapist.

Aside from learning fears from our families, we also learn fears from society and the media, including movies. For some reason, a lot of humans enjoy the feeling of being afraid. Perhaps it is the adrenaline we get, the fight or flight scenario, or maybe we are all just a bit masochistic. Near Halloween, we find amusement parks with mazes full of people covered in goopy makeup and fake blood that will scream at us in an attempt to scare us, and they will typically succeed. We watch gory movies, jumpy movies, and movies that are just downright creepy, because we like the fear that we feel, even if we don’t want to admit it to ourselves. After all, fear is mental. If we didn’t want to be afraid, all we would have to do is remember that no, a dead girl with long hair covering her face that is disturbingly mangled is not going to come out of the television and kill us.

Everyone is expected to be afraid of something. Some people are more scared than others. Some fears are completely irrational, like my fear of mirrors instilled in me from the excessive amounts of scary movies I watch, and some fears are perfectly sensible, like being afraid of having a fatal car accident. While fear can hinder some parts of like, like making me afraid to even go in the bathroom after seeing a horror movie, it also protects us. Even though most situations aren’t something to be afraid of, fear is like a safety net. If I wasn’t afraid of that stranger my mother always told me not to talk to, would I be that girl on the news found raped and murdered while walking home one night?

Works Cited

Edberg, Henrik. "22 Inspirational Quotes on Fear." The Positivity Blog. N.p., 2012. Web. Web. 23 Oct.       2012. 

Little People

Little People

It was night when she heard them,

but never were they seen:

the little people, running around,

running in the ceiling.

Pittering,

   pattering,

      chittering,

         chattering.

“Mice,” her mother suggested,

but never found one mouse.

“Perhaps the wind,” was her next guess,

but the girl heard them on windless nights.

“Calm down sweetie,” her mother would say,

“It is nothing more than rain.”

But what about the nights with no storms?

Pittering,

   pattering,

      chittering,

         chattering.

Under the covers she went,

hiding herself away,

from

not mice,

not wind,

not rain.

Pittering,

   pattering,

      chittering,

         chattering.

Night after night,

once she was in bed,

she heard them return,

never peeking out her head -

and wanted nothing more than to escape.

Forgotten Memories

I had a boyfriend, once.

I mean, I have had several boyfriends. Five, to be exact. Most of them were pretty insignificant. It was chill. The first I had an on-and-off thing with for about four years, beginning in elementary school. That was interesting. The third was a rebound from the second (who I will get to in a moment) that was orchestrated by mutual friends, but he ended up being gay. (Which is totally cool, and he is still a friend.) The fourth... that one I like to pretend never happened. Not much about it was good. I did learn, though, not to date anyone with the same birthday as me. The fifth was only two weeks, and I learned then how quickly I can get over a guy. I also learned that I have a knack for becoming attracted to co-actors because of their character they are playing as opposed to who they actually are.

My second boyfriend, who I will be referring to as Bob, had a much larger impact on my life as a whole than any of those four did. It was my longest relationship, ten months to the day, though Bob was involved in my life for much longer than that, both before and after we were dating.

I didn't much care about anything before I met him. Yeah, I read some books (and was infatuated with Edward Cullen at the time) and played some video games (I was, and still am, in love with Riku from Kingdom Hearts) but that was about it. Aside from spending some time writing fan fiction, I didn't do anything. The clothes I wore were hand-me-downs. I had friends, but I wasn't really SUPER close to anyone. I had things I liked, but I didn't share them much. As Bob told me once, as unkind of a thing as it was, my personality was like a blank slate; he said one of the reasons he pursued me was because he figured he could make me into exactly what he wanted me to be.

He was partially correct. Before I continue, in my defense, I was fourteen for most of this, therefore I forgive myself for my vast stupidity. Anyway, he managed to make me do what he wanted me to do, wear what he wanted me to wear, and like what he wanted me to like. With a few bumps in his path (like my unwillingness for certain activities, given how innocent I was), he did succeed in making me what he wanted me to be. It became who I was, and I essentially let him control me. He would come over to my house every day. We would usually watch a movie or play a video game. He would secretly text other women. I knew, yes, but I never said anything. I didn't want him to be mad at me.

This pattern continued for a pretty long time. In the summer, things were better. He went to the beach with my family and certain events happened there where he became pretty agreeable to almost anything. He was actually nice to me for most of the summer. Then school started up again, and people became involved. Things began to spiral downhill from there. But what he didn't see coming was a change in me that I didn't even predict. I had gone from not caring about anything, to caring about what Bob wanted me to do, to finally caring about what I wanted and needed. Maybe it was because my time with him during the summer had been so great that it opened my eyes to the way our relationship should have been. Maybe he was just so crazy around Christmas-time that I eventually snapped. I still don't know.

Things had gone back to how they were before, but I wasn't so willing to let it happen. When he did things I found suspicious, I would question him. I didn't do whatever he asked me to. I was becoming my own person, and I don't think he much liked it. A few days before our ten month anniversary, things were changing drastically. Because, dear planets and earth and stars and sun, there was a day when he did not come over to my house. This was a huge deal. For ten months (I repeat, TEN MONTHS) he had come to my house every single day. It was extremely obvious that something was up. And then, on the morning of our ten month anniversary, my mother texted me and told me that Bob's therapist had told Bob's grandmother who had told my mother that he was going to break up with me.

Long story short, there was an all-day spectacle and he did break up with me that day. I am pretty sure the entire school knew what was going on. I was very famous from that relationship for a while, not to mention identified by it. About a month, I think, later, he ended up moving into my house. I don't remember how long he lived with me, but there was a good chunk of time where I wasn't over him, and I am pretty sure he had sex with his new girlfriend in my house. Before I was over him. It was pretty unfortunate.

But, like before, something eventually made me snap. I wouldn't say it was overnight, though thinking back on it, it does seem like it was very sudden. I was over him. Everything he was doing, everything he was, just wasn't what I wanted. And I was finally able to see that. A change happened in me then, and that change is what made me who I am today.

This story was relevant, I swear.

I had a dream about him last night. I think I saw him in some movie theater, probably going to see The Hobbit (because I am obsessed), and somehow we ended up talking and in a room, and I was lying on his chest (don't know how; it was kind of deformed for the whole time I knew him. He is skinnier than I am, I think). Nothing else happened, except for my family being extremely upset with me and me having to explain that, seriously, nothing happened between us.

Obviously, I woke up eventually. And I thought about it. I tried to dig into my memories of that relationship, just the good ones, but there aren't any. I remember some of the pictures of us on Facebook, and little facts of things that we did. But what about the important stuff? I can't remember how I felt. As much as I dislike the boy, technically now a man by age I suppose, he had a huge role in shaping who I am, even if it didn't turn out how he planned. And that evolution in me was emotionally driven. But I can't remember it. It completely consumed my life at the time, but I can't remember what it felt like to be in love (or at least think I was). I can't remember what it felt like to kiss someone I cared about romantically. I can't remember what it felt like to do anything in that relationship.

And that horrifies me.

If something like that, something that huge and important and such a big deal at the time, that only happened five years ago, has been all-but-forgotten, what does that mean? Ten years from now, what am I going to remember? Just the facts? Is it in human nature to forget emotions, or am I just weird? As much as I feel like I was stupid and that I should have seen how unhealthy that relationship was sooner, I want to remember what it felt like. I want to remember feeling the happiness, even if it means remembering how miserable I was half the time too. 

I've considered that maybe my mind is blocking it out, those memories, because it thinks they were traumatic. I've had some family issues, and my mom tells me sometimes that my brain's way of coping with all of the emotional stress is for it to completely block it out, leaving me in an apathetic state. Until now, though, I haven't seen a problem with it. I didn't realize it was going to block out everything.

If my memories of emotions are blocked out, is my ability to feel them as strongly blocked out too? My fifth relationship; did I only get over it so fast because my mind blocked out the emotional hurt I felt? I mean, since then I have liked people, but never to the degree I did with Bob. And, while it has never seemed strange to me before (I mean, I can't fall hopelessly in love with everyone; I assumed I just hadn't met the right person), now I'm not so sure. I feel like, instead of growing into someone stronger, I've grown into someone who is emotionally stunted, where before I was so open. It doesn't feel like I've grown. It feels like I've shrunk.

Language of the Ocean

Language of the Ocean

The amber sun sets, radiating light

   off of the crisp waves crashing

      to the shore, disturbing

         the sand. A woman with

flowing black hair sat in those sands,

   eyes closed, wind tousling her

      clothes.

         It was going to be dark soon

and she needed to return home.

   No matter the bubbling elation she

      felt when she spotted a baby

sand crab running across the shore

   in front of her, trying to reach the ocean,

      other creatures came during the night

         on the beach as well.

Her name was Ren, and she

   was named for the ocean. Never

      had she known anyone with an affinity

         for the ocean quite like hers.

      The ocean brought Ren peace and

filled her with calm,

   with the crashing,

      pushing,

         pulling,

            swishing,

of the waves, the sweet, salty wind,

   the sting of the sand on her skin.

She was born in a hut near

   this beach to a mother with no man

      to look after her. With a father, would

she have connected so easily

   to the entity that was the ocean?

      The sun continued to sink behind

         the salty abyss and Ren knew it was

past time to head home. Rising, brushing off the

   excess sand on her legs, and turning

      towards the east, she began her venture.

          Spots on the sand reflected what was left

of the sunset and she wished nothing more than to capture

   the rainbow spectrum shining from the ground

      like an illusion one might see walking

         through a desert with no water.

            Moving on, certain she would be able

to see that spectrum of light again one day,

   she reluctantly sped up her pace.

Walking further and further, she was

   disheartened with every clear blob, like

      a slab of jelly, stuck in the sand.

        

         But then something else,

            something new, came into view.

               Ren had never seen a beached whale,

a beached shark, or any other creature of a similar nature

   in person. A small figure, not even the length of

      an adult forearm, was wriggling in the hot sand.

         Ren knelt down beside it.

            The creature was none other than

a baby shark.

   Ren had always known the ocean can

      speak to us

         with waves and

            with sand,

through the creatures she can send our way.

   She doesn’t speak our language,

      but instead uses one similar to that of human body language.

         Ren could always understand.

The tossing, turning ocean can be cruel,

   cruel to her subjects,

      cruel to her visitors.

She spits beasts left and right

   to be devoured by the crisp sand

      and dried by the burning sun.

Why would she do this?

   Ren wondered.

      Had her creatures wronged her?

Beached whales, stranded sharks,

   fishermen reeling in dinner –

      all causing the loss of her population –

         no matter their age or heritage.

            The ocean can’t discriminate.

Ren toiled away to save this baby

   shark, trying time and time again to throw it into the

      ocean, but he kept returning,

         he continued to be rejected.

She tossed him in one last time,

   throwing him as far as her scrawny arms

      could muster.

         She wanted to believe that she succeeded,

that the baby was saved. The last time

   she threw it, she hadn’t spotted it

      again, but it had been returned to the shore

   so many times that she wondered if it

      really had done something wrong,

something offensive to the rest of the critters in the waters.

   But still, as she trudged through the dark,

      through the sand,

         she was calmed again by

      the unpredictability yet

         complete

certainty of the water and its tides,

   even if that certainty is not so

      certain.

Ode to Dance

Ode to Dance

Beginning with blood and blisters in ballet

To tutus and tights in a small theater

Artists learn different forms of creativity

Being taught tap and jazz from a teacher

This art evolves to hip hop and contemporary

Bringing sweat with sparkles and glitter

Along with more and more abstract choreography

Buns and bobby pins, practice and pain

On stage, dancers compete with tricks and technique

Adrenaline in lights, judges and jazz,

Until the time limit is reached, the team continues

When the competition is done, the art continues

Back to the bar, back to the ballroom,

To the buns, to the hairspray,

The exercise of dance expands and endures.

Race for Candy

Race for Candy

“Why are you wearing a trash bag?” I asked my friend Stephen. I had just opened my door to find him standing there wearing a tall hat made of black tape, and a black trash bag with holes cut out for his head and arms. I knew it was the first time he was allowed to go trick-or-treating, but I thought he had to have a better idea of a costume than a trash bag with a hat.

            

“I’m a magician, Christina,” he told me with a beaming grin on his face. I just smiled back and accepted it since I still needed to get my mother to do my hair. I was going to be Princess Leia, but I was much too young to tame my unruly hair into two buns on the sides of my head. My mom was more agreeable with this costume than she had ever been with any of its predecessors simply because part of it was a white turtle neck and she had always had a fear of me freezing to death while trick-or-treating.

            

“If someone tells you that you can have however much candy you want, only take three or four pieces,” my mom told me.

            

“Okay,” I responded.

            

“And don’t walk in the middle of the road,” she continued as she yanked the left half of my hair into a bun.

            

“Okay.”

            

“And don’t run when you are going to get candy. The candy isn’t going anywhere,” she kept going.

            

“Okay,” I said. But actually, the candy was going somewhere: into the bags and baskets of the other numerous children in my neighborhood. And that just wasn’t okay.

After I was fully dressed as the Star Wars heroine in all my nerdy glory, my dad drove Stephen and me down my neighborhood to get on the hayride that all the kids got on to go around getting free candy from families that it seemed our parents had deemed trustworthy. When we got to the house where the hayride started, I immediately dragged Stephen along to hunt down my friends from school.

            

“Uh, why are you wearing a trash bag?” one of them asked Stephen.

            

“He’s a magician. Isn’t it obvious?” I asked. I had felt, since I met him in first grade, an inherent need to defend him. He was so short and bony, and people always picked on him. His mother was essentially a crazy-Christian and had a strong dislike for me because the word “sex” was on a paper I wrote in third grade. I was talking about gender. But anyway, until this year, his mother had told him that trick-or-treating was an act of Satan-worship and hadn’t let him go, nor would his parents give out candy to trick-or-treaters.

            

My other friend nodded. “I can see it. I mean, magicians definitely wear black. And the hat totally works. Nice costume Stephen,” she commented. Mr. Goodman, the owner of the hayride, called for everyone to get on and that it was time to go. Stephen and I went and sat down as close to the back as we could. After all, we wanted to get to the candy first.

            

We chuckled and ran from house to house, racing to ring the doorbell first and say “trick-or-treat” to the owners. One house was so covered in fake spider webs that I was pretty sure I could spot some real ones inside the fake ones. At one door, a Great Dane barked at us until someone shooed him away and brought out the candy. As an extremely small child, I was a bit traumatized from having a dog taller than me barking directly at my face through a glass door.

           

“Trick-or-treat!” we harmonized at the next door. A smiling old woman came out with a giant box of DVDs in her arms.

            

“Take whichever you like, dearies,” her voice creaked, almost like a wooden floorboard in an old house. I was pretty excited about getting a free DVD. At least, I was excited until I saw that they were all A Series of Unfortunate Events. That movie made me angry. It deviated too far from the book. And that old woman? Her greeting was misleading.

            

We were approximately three-fourths of the way done with trick-or-treating when some higher power decided to attempt to give me the life lesson of “always do what your mother tells you.” We were running, just like my mother told me not to, up one of the steeper driveways. No one came to answer the door, but there was a bowl of candy set out on the porch, so I took four pieces. Everything was going smoothly. However, when we were running back down the driveway to go to the next house, Stephen fell.

            

I’ve always had a problem with blood. The idea of something meant to be inside my body coming out freaks me out as well as making me feel light-headed and nauseous. Both of Stephen’s knees were completely bleeding, so I told another kid to find the hayride people or someone’s parents to help.

            

“Here, I’ll go pick up your candy,” I offered, scampering around, trying to find the loose candy in the darkness. Some of it had probably rolled into a ditch, but I wanted to salvage as much as I could. About five minutes later, the kid I had sent on his journey successfully returned with an adult.

            

“What happened?” he asked.

           

“We were going a bit too fast and I tripped,” Stephen answered. The whole mood on the evening was dampened for me. It was Stephen’s first Halloween and, in my need to not listen to my mother, I had completely ruined it for him. I looked in my pumpkin-shaped bucket. It was almost full to the brim. One of the next five houses was going to be mine, so I could just go home if I wanted to.

            

“I think I’m going to go home Stephen,” I told him. I felt guilty. I was the one who had encouraged him to run, and, in my childish mind, Stephen’s knee injuries were a lot more severe than any adult would think they were.

            

I hugged Stephen and my other friends goodbye and apologized to him before taking the turn down the road to get to my house. I made sure not to run, and I stayed as far to the side of the road as I could. My house came into view and I trudged up to the front door. My mother opened it after I rang the doorbell. I just looked at her for a moment and walked right past her, going into the living room to do my annual “sort the candy” ritual.

            

“You came home early?” she asked. I just nodded. “Are you okay?” Twizzlers go in the “icky” pile. “Christina?” Skittles go in the “super yummy” pile. “What happened?” she put her hand on my shoulder, forcing my attention. I looked up at her.

            

“Stephen fell,” I said.

            

“Oh? Is he okay? How did he fall?” she asked. I paused, throwing out an unwrapped piece of candy. I wasn’t allowed to eat those. I looked up again to see my mother staring at me expectantly. I let out a long sigh.

            

“We were running. Because the candy totally does go somewhere if we don’t get there before everyone else.” 

Waiting

I Have Been Waiting

for a time

that feels much longer than it

has actually been but you have

been ignoring this

If i could bring myself

to do so i would tell you just to

see how you respond

since it would halt

you blissfully ignoring the problems

of others and not breeding

any problems of your own

These feelings i have

consume so much of what i

have chosen to toil away

the hours of my day with

but now i am learning

something new

I don’t know if i want to wait

anymore because i've learned

that there are people

who want to give me

exactly what i have been waiting for

from you but my heart

is still telling me that wait

ing is the right thing to do

On My Feet

On My Feet

My feet are not pretty, nor are they delicate. They are lumpy. Some of my toes are sticking in strange directions. In fact, my toes are not flat like a normal foot, but they curve down at the end of each one. This is with the exception of both of my big toes, my “turtle toes,” that curve up and cause me to get the most obnoxious looking holes in all of my Toms shoes. I suppose that is what I get for not wearing socks with them, but socks with Toms look so strange. My feet are unnaturally long and skinny, I probably have bunions, and my heels, toes, and balls of my feet are completely covered in calluses.

            

There are reasons for these deformities, of course. Shoes. Many different kinds of shoes. Pointe shoes, tap shoes, jazz shoes, ballet shoes – they all had a part in the unbecoming of my feet. As previously stated, my feet are long and skinny. Being both long and skinny does not bode well for shoe fittings. Typically, skinny feet are short. Apparently, the longer your feet get, the wider they are expected to be. I had many a dance teacher tell me, especially for pointe shoes, that the width of the shoe fitting me was much more important than the length. So pointe shoe after pointe shoe, jazz shoe after jazz shoe, my feet were balled up inside shoes that were much too small.

            

It was almost like how Chinese women wrap their feet in ribbon so that they will be smaller, because it is impressive, in their society, to have small feet. My toes always had to curl up in my shoes, which is why they now curve down and inward at the ends. Obviously, the worst of these shoes were the pointe shoes. Not only were they small and squishing my feet to death, but I was also expected to stand on my toes – the very same toes that were being crushed inside the shoe. One time it was so painful that I just sat down and started crying. My pointe teacher was unhappy with me, but I asserted that my shoes did not fit and it hurt too badly to do the exercises across the floor.

            

I continued, for the next two years, to try on pointe shoes in a store, decide they were good enough, and then go to class and not be able to dance in them. There was no brand of shoe, and no size of shoe, that would fit my feet, but the damage was already done. My toes face inward, like the point you see on high-heeled shoes sometimes, and they curve in unnatural directions. I have ingrown toenails because of this, and the angle my toes now face have caused me to get bunions on my feet.

            

A similar process happened with tap, jazz, and ballet shoes until we found a company that made tap shoes in a narrow size. Then it just was ballet and jazz. I quit taking pointe classes after those two years, but my feet continued to get deformed from all of the workshops I did where I was forced to wear my ballet and jazz shoes that were just too small, but I wouldn’t take them off until I got to the point where I legitimately could not feel my feet – I was concerned that it might be unhealthy, which is the only reason why I removed the shoes.
            

I don’t take dance classes anymore, but I still hate my feet. Granted, I now have the ability to wear shoes that are one to two sizes too small, since my toes are so capable of crushing themselves. It is nice to be able to have that large of a range of shoe sizes, but I do prefer for me feet not to be in pain. I don’t particularly like wearing shoes that expose my feet or toes, like flip flops, because I always feel like people are judging me for how deformed they look. However, when I explain I am a dancer, people usually have an easier time understanding – apparently, it is common knowledge that dancers’ feet are gross.

Companion Poems

These are two companion poems, one about my Grandfather on my mom's side, and one about my Grandmother on my mom's side, one deceased (R.I.P.) and one with Alzheimer's, respectively.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tire Garden

Black, rubbery, and round,

the tires lying there,

soaking up the heat from the sun.

I had always wanted

to help Papa

with the

garden, but this

was the first time he agreed.

Shovel in one hand,

bag of seeds in

the other,

I watched as

his rough, worker’s

hands showed me how to dig

a hole, and then to place

the seeds inside

and cover

them.

He left, then,

left me to my business,

and went to work

on his own

job

in the

beaming sun

that was absorbing into

the tires that

would soon

spark

life.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Silver Lemonade

Every visit, the best thing

to do with Granny was

to clean the dishes. She

would find me the little

red stool, set it there, and

give me everything I

needed to scrub dish after

dish. Forks and spoons and

plates and mugs all met

with suds and bubbles, a

rag and a sponge. One

spoon was long, the spoon

to make lemonade. I

would clean it and then ask

Granny. “can we make some

lemonade now?” She would

comply, we would finish

the dishes, and she would

          get the jug

          from where

          it resided

          daily. She

          would pour,

          I would stir,

          with the

          long spoon

          I found

          in the

          sink.

Inspiration

I am feeling particularly inspired, thanks to my desire to read some fantasy novels - I really only skimmed - to see if I was doing it right. I decided I am. Granted, there are a few changes with my main cast and world that I want to make, but otherwise I am feeling quite confident. I was worried my descriptions weren't good enough, but that's because it is hard to get the specific image in my mind down on paper. However, after reading others' work, I am convinced I have described enough. After all, it is only a blueprint you want to give the readers so there is room left for them to imagine.

I think I do that.

At least relatively well.

And it is only a first draft, so it should be fine in the end.

I just need to work on my antagonist and his motivations.

Side note: my stomach is making the strangest noises. It befuddles me.

Dazzle Story

Mirror

I gazed into the glimmering shard before me, wondering how such a small piece of something larger could end up so far separated from its whole self. It was like an apple that fell and rolled farther and farther from under its tree, or a flat tire that wound up miles and miles away from the other parts of the automobile. I was only eight years old and my mother had always told me, along with other various bits of advice, to avoid touching broken glass. This shard of a mirror was effectively the same as glass, but it tantalized me anyway.

            

I carefully ran my fingers over the jagged edges, making sure not to cut myself. After all, I was disobeying my mother, and she would definitely find out about my defiance if I returned to my room with crimson seeping from my hands. The shard was small, about the size of a strawberry, and I wondered again what separated it from its whole self. Was it from a grand, antique mirror with gold and silver swirled together on the edges? Was it from a contemporary mirror, framed in a simple black? Or was it a piece of something dingy, maybe stained, that someone threw out since it became obsolete? I could tell nothing of its past from the appearance of the sliver of a mirror in my hands.

            

It wasn’t quite nightfall, but the stars were peeking out from behind the clouds. I couldn’t see them in the sky, but they were reflected in the little mirror. It was like I could hold the very sky above me in my hands, and I contemplated if the sky would feel the same as this shard were it to collapse one day. It was beautiful. Tilting it to the side, its reflective surface revealed to me an image of the pine and oak trees surrounding our yard. Suddenly, however, I realized that the shard itself was just as beautiful as the things it could show me with its clear, sparkling surface. I was able to take in the intricate simplicity of the actual object in my hands.

            

It was so very smooth – smooth like the metal of a fork or spoon – but the humidity in the air caused my fingers to stick as I ran them across its delicate surface. My fingers left a trail behind them, blurring the images I was no longer paying attention to. I realized then that its origins were of no consequence to me; I couldn’t judge what I saw before me by what, or where, it came from. I understood that it was the same, no matter if it came from the extravagant mirror, the dingy, neglected mirror, or somewhere in between. Its origins weren’t what made it what it became on its own. Was it from a mirror carelessly thrown out by its owner? If so, I was lucky that I was able to find it so that it could escape that fate. Was it from a beloved golden and silver mirror, accidentally broken by some unfortunate event? I was still lucky that I found it, for that exact same reason.

             

The shard didn’t have a color, or one could say it held within it every color – if not the potential for every color. I knew it was capable of radiating light in all directions, just as it was equally capable of appearing blackened by pure darkness. It had the potential to be good or bad, the potential to hurt me or protect me, and the potential to break down or thrive. It didn’t matter where it came from. All of those potentials still rested within its shimmering surface. A flat tire was still flat and useless no matter what car it came from. A bruised apple is still bruised and unlikely to be eaten no matter what tree it fell from. In contrast, water can save a life no matter which river it came from, and lightning is still darkly captivating no matter which cloud creates it.

            

I took the mirror shard inside with me, wrapping it with a tissue to preserve it - as though I was mummifying it - and hid it inside my Disney Princess jewelry box. Though I rarely took it out after the day I found it, the memory of finding it was always somewhat present my mind. The shard reminded me that something – or someone – can be beautiful no matter who made it, who raised it, or what trials it has gone through. Something coming from the darkest path of life can be just as radiant as a similar entity from a clear path of life, where the best decision to make was always easy to see. 

Chat About Satanism

Chatting while waiting to play League of Legends one day...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PandaShadow joined the room.

ArmadillloHunter joined the room.

That Canadian joined the room.

That Canadian: ROAR

That Canadian joined the room.

That Canadian: HI!

ArmadillloHunter: why did i decline?

PandaShadow: im so confused

PandaShadow: lololol

That Canadian: grace

ArmadillloHunter: now im pending?

That Canadian: exit the thingy

That Canadian: then re-accept

That Canadian: and itll fix it

ArmadillloHunter joined the room.

ArmadillloHunter: mk

PandaShadow: there we go

That Canadian: i think league broke

PandaShadow: now swirly needs to not be in the queu

That Canadian: read the blue ! mark

That Canadian: at the top of the screen

ArmadillloHunter: yeah

PandaShadow: i know :(

ArmadillloHunter: i saw ten min ago

That Canadian: i think it broke

That Canadian: like my heart

ArmadillloHunter: but nobody would listen

That Canadian: I LISTENED!

That Canadian: ok i didnt

ArmadillloHunter: no you didn't

That Canadian: i lied

That Canadian: im sorry

ArmadillloHunter: lies and deciet

That Canadian: ill go punihsh myself with a rope now

PandaShadow: no one ever listens to my heart

ArmadillloHunter: NO!

That Canadian: YES

ArmadillloHunter: that would be sad

PandaShadow: and it breaks all the time

That Canadian: IT NEEDS TO BE DONE

That Canadian: i love you though!

PandaShadow: see? still not listening

That Canadian: dont let it break!

PandaShadow: my heart

PandaShadow: b

PandaShadow: r

ArmadillloHunter: you are not a houseelf

That Canadian: I ONLY HAVE SO MUCH DUCTTAPE

ArmadillloHunter: you don't need to punish myself

ArmadillloHunter: yourself*

PandaShadow: :'(

That Canadian: BUT i do have superglue

PandaShadow: :''''''''(

That Canadian: that could work

Swirlyburns joined the room.

ArmadillloHunter: nick gave me some duct tape

Swirlyburns: haha

Swirlyburns: my other friends are still tryna log in

PandaShadow: we do have duct tape

PandaShadow: mk

ArmadillloHunter: it has camo

That Canadian: I gave that bitch AIDS, Bitches love AIDS

DarkestSeme17 joined the room.

PandaShadow: chris

That Canadian: yes?

PandaShadow: you are so strange

ArmadillloHunter: yea

That Canadian: im special

That Canadian: and grace is weird

ArmadillloHunter: but we love you

ArmadillloHunter: no!!

PandaShadow: d'aw

That Canadian: well i love you too

PandaShadow: anyway

PandaShadow: we ready?

PandaShadow: to try again?

That Canadian: no

ArmadillloHunter: wait

PandaShadow: ...

ArmadillloHunter: its not fixed

That Canadian: the sun isnt in the proper alignment

PandaShadow: ......

That Canadian: we must wait

That Canadian: for the sun to be in the house of julius

PandaShadow: o...kay

ArmadillloHunter: there is no sun

That Canadian: THEN we can start

PandaShadow: let me know when i am cleared to start

That Canadian: EXACTLY

ArmadillloHunter: it is a bereft day

DarkestSeme17: start

PandaShadow: a day bereft of sun

That Canadian: NO WAIT

That Canadian: THE STARS!

PandaShadow: ...

PandaShadow: can i start now?

ArmadillloHunter: my horoscope!

That Canadian: sure

That Canadian: go ahead

That Canadian: ruin the stars

That Canadian: see what I care

ArmadillloHunter: its gonna be broken

That Canadian: i blame christina

Swirlyburns: I SHALL BURN THE STARS FROM THE SKY

That Canadian: she broke the stars

PandaShadow: did not

That Canadian: SHE BROKE THE STAIRWAY TO MY HEART

ArmadillloHunter: that's terrible

PandaShadow: oh my

ArmadillloHunter: you should be a poet

That Canadian: why thank you

That Canadian: i feel i really capture the moment

ArmadillloHunter: yea

That Canadian: well thank you <3

ArmadillloHunter: just like pablo neruda

That Canadian: who?

ArmadillloHunter: he was also obsessed with sex

That Canadian: is that a racist joke?

ArmadillloHunter: no

That Canadian: i think it i

That Canadian: is*

That Canadian: and i dont take kindly to that

That Canadian: it hurts me

ArmadillloHunter: no cuz of the rule

That Canadian: right here *points to heart*

ArmadillloHunter: what kind of racist joke could that be?

That Canadian: I'm going to go eat small children now, andtell them that grace will be waiting for them in hell with ponies and deadparents

PandaShadow: ...

PandaShadow: i am creeped out now

That Canadian: at least theres ponies

ArmadillloHunter: i can't believe you just said that

ArmadillloHunter: it hurts me

That Canadian: who doesnt like ponies?

ArmadillloHunter: i love ponies

That Canadian: NOW YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL

ArmadillloHunter: and small children

PandaShadow: id like to apologize for my friends being soinsane

Swirlyburns: sadly

That Canadian: ok then you should be happy im sending themto you

PandaShadow: i am very very sorry

Swirlyburns: this seems normal in comparison to some thingsI've seen

That Canadian: you can be their demon mommy

PandaShadow: lol

ArmadillloHunter: but they would still be in hell

ArmadillloHunter: and that's sad

PandaShadow: wtf

That Canadian: YOU CAN MAKE IT HEAVEN IF YOU BELIEVE

That Canadian: SATAN LOVES ALL HIS CHILDREN

That Canadian: BOW TO THE POWER OF LUCIFER

PandaShadow: chris... are you on something right now?

ArmadillloHunter: satanist!

That Canadian: ACCEPT HIM INTO YOUR HEART AND SOUL

ArmadillloHunter: is this real life>

ArmadillloHunter: ?

That Canadian: FOR HE GUIDES US ON THE PATH TO REDEMPTION

That Canadian: REDEMPTION FROM OUR CHRISTIAN SINS OF OLD

PandaShadow: guys

ArmadillloHunter: my lungs are going to burst

PandaShadow: league is broken

Swirlyburns: poor riot

That Canadian: NOW GO! GO MY SON, AND BRING ME THE HEARTS OF17 YOUND FEMALE VIRGINS

Swirlyburns: never get things goin their way

PandaShadow: -_- chris...

That Canadian: FOR THEN YOU WILL BE SAVED

Swirlyburns: WHAT IS A YOUND, FATHER

That Canadian: SAVED BY THE SATAN IN YOUR HEART

PandaShadow: LOLOLOL

ArmadillloHunter: i will never bow to satan

That Canadian: sermon by Chris Poole: 9/15/2012

That Canadian: Thank you my children

PandaShadow: ILL MAKE A MAN OUT OF YOU

That Canadian: for you may now be saved

ArmadillloHunter: you are killing me

ArmadillloHunter: i could not breate

ArmadillloHunter: *breathe

That Canadian: GOOD! LET THE DEATH COURSE THROUGH YOURVEINS!

PandaShadow: ...

That Canadian: FOLLOW ITS SWEET EMBRACE!

That Canadian: FOR THAT IS THE ONE TRUE WAY TO OBGLIVION!

That Canadian: GO! GO MY CHILD!

PandaShadow: i have to pee

PandaShadow: but im scared if i leave

That Canadian: ACCEPT THE FATE THAT IS PLACED BEFORE YOU!

PandaShadow: the game will start

ArmadillloHunter: if i go to hell, i am giving christina mycheese

ArmadillloHunter: and you can't have any

That Canadian: well thats rude

ArmadillloHunter: cuz you will have killed me

That Canadian: why would you such hurtful things

That Canadian: I have been nothing but nice to you

That Canadian: you are very offensive

ArmadillloHunter: well, maybe you could eat it

That Canadian: can i please be a satanist preacher?

ArmadillloHunter: cuz apparently other people don't eatcheese by itself

ArmadillloHunter: losers

That Canadian: i think itd be fun

ArmadillloHunter: you are good at it

That Canadian: well thank you

That Canadian: I found a website of satanist sermons

PandaShadow: im going to pee

That Canadian: I'm scared

That Canadian: It says I should sacrifice a woodlandcreature

ArmadillloHunter: you should add yours to the website

That Canadian: named thumper

ArmadillloHunter: haha

That Canadian: WHY, WHY NOT BAMBI

ArmadillloHunter: or bambi's mother

That Canadian: that whore had it comming

ArmadillloHunter: right on

That Canadian: I'm sorry i almost killed you

ArmadillloHunter: its okay

That Canadian: I didnt mean too

That Canadian: I only wanted you to accept satan into yourheart

ArmadillloHunter: i would be going to a better place,apparently

That Canadian: like any good human would do

That Canadian: for he loves you no matter your sins

That Canadian: I feel liek I would be a good satanist

ArmadillloHunter: he loves you more if you sin

ArmadillloHunter: aren't you already

That Canadian: Maybe

That Canadian: that's a secret

That Canadian: dont tell the children

ArmadillloHunter: you are so well versed in the culture

That Canadian: Ω HORSESHOE

PandaShadow: what is wrong with you?

That Canadian: ΩΩΩ

ArmadillloHunter: is that the bad luck or the good luckkind?

That Canadian: IT IS THE HOOFPRINT OF LUCIFER

PandaShadow: ...

That Canadian: ENSHRINE IT ABOVE YOUR BED

ArmadillloHunter: so if it was the other way, it would belucky?

PandaShadow: no

That Canadian: AND MEDITATE TO IT EVERY NIGHT OF YOR

ArmadillloHunter: like this U

PandaShadow: .

PandaShadow: ..

PandaShadow: ...

ArmadillloHunter: yes master

That Canadian: ACCEPT IT INTO YOUR SOUL CHRISTINA

PandaShadow: no

That Canadian: ACCEPT IT LIKE GRACE HAS DONE

ArmadillloHunter: DO IT!

That Canadian: FOR THEN YOU WILL FIND TRUE HAPPINESS

PandaShadow: nope. im too infatuation with an asian toaccept such nonsense

ArmadillloHunter: DO IT NOW!!

PandaShadow: nathan is way christian

That Canadian: ETERNAL DAMNATION AWAITS YOU IF YOU FOLLOWTHE PATH OF CHRIST

PandaShadow: im not giving up by going satanist

ArmadillloHunter: SUCH FREEDOM, MY SOUL HAS NEVER KNOWN!

PandaShadow: nope

That Canadian: SAVE YOURSELF NOW MY SISTER! FOR THIS IS THEONLY WAY TO 

REACH TRUE PERFECTION!

PandaShadow: man

That Canadian: LET SATAN TAKE YOU IN HIS SWEET EMBRACE!

PandaShadow: wheres nathan when i need him?

PandaShadow: he'd be on my side

Swirlyburns: hrm?

ArmadillloHunter: no, he would see our way

PandaShadow: nuh uh

That Canadian: MANY MEN YOU SHALL HAVE WHEN YOU ACCEPT THEPOWER OF LUCIFER

PandaShadow: i dont want those men

ArmadillloHunter: what if (insert name of male I recently liked but don't want to share with the world) was one of them

PandaShadow: im too picky

That Canadian: can someone please save this conversation

PandaShadow: and he isn’t :P