When Sylph finds a mirror at the bottom of a hidden lake, it is just another piece of junk. But this mirror could be the solution that Sylph has been searching for.


1. Chapter 1

     Walking home from school was the worst. It gave me time to think. I was normal, normal parents, normal life, normal friends. Lately by life was going below normal. Or above. Too dangerous. A small group of friends that were reliable. That was what I had chosen. A quiet normal life, shaded from all the bullies. But lately, changes were occurring. An old friend was starting to be mean. New friends ignored me. Boys started flirting with my friends that remained. Almost no one was the same. Except me.

      All of this was going through my head as I walked down that familiar path, the one with green trees lining it, barely noticing the cars zipping past. Not like they would notice me either. Lately, more people knew my name. But they didn't really know me, that always happened when you had new classes. More people "knew" you. No one did. They just said that. 

     As I rounded the corner of my neighborhood, the grey clouds overhead started to shed their massive tears. I have always loved the rain. It made me feel like the earth was crying with me. Because no one else on the entire planet felt sympathy for me, or at least it seemed that way. Those who would either didn't know me, or didn't know I had to fight back tears every day.

"And they never would." I whispered to myself.

     My mom's car is not in the driveway, which meant my mom had undoubtedly locked the door. I hated it when the door was locked. It meant I had to climb through the messy garage. Dropping my backpack on the porch, I trudge to the big garage door. Slowly, I haul up the garage door on its tracks. Barely any light shines through because of the shelf in front of the door. Squeezing my way between garbage cans and bikes, I make a silent prayer that no mice were currently taking shelter in one of the large heavy duty buckets that were strewn all over the floor. 

     Bursting through the heavy door to the main hallway, I quickly flicked on the lights. I wasn't usually afraid of darkness, but when I am home alone, there is always a feeling of being watched. As I rounded the corner to the kitchen, my lazy black dog remembers his job and gave a small, halfhearted attempt at a growl. Pete is a cat dog. He is a miniature labradoodle, and was raised by the only creature in his shelter who even gave a thought to him, the cat. We had gotten him seven years ago, but he only recently showed any interest in chewing up socks or taking any interest in the little, yappy dogs in the neighborhood. Still, really the only dog he has ever played with was a blind dog that was scared out of its wits.

     Looking through the cupboard and fridge only makes me sad, because ever since we started our new dairy gluten corn soy egg and most meat free diet, easy snacks like chips and crackers don't really exist. If I wanted a snack it took long preparation. Thinking about gram crackers and popcorn, I decide I'm not really hungry. 

     I knew my mom wouldn't be home for at least an hour, because every day now she had somewhere to go. I pounded up the steps, making sure to count my age, "" only one more month till i can add '14', and turn on the light in the parent's bedroom. My mom had been collecting rocks and gems, and had some creepy masks that were supposed to protect them. I personally think that if there is anything magical about them, it's bad. Nothing so horrid could do good.

     Walking into my parent's bathroom always made me feel like a princess. Everything was always perfectly clean and spotless. The counter was organized, and the decorations fit the colors perfectly. I would smile back through the sparkling mirror that went across one wall. This was my favorite part of the day sometimes, being alone. I could do whatever I wanted without bothering or being bothered. Taking one last look in the mirror, I walk out, and skip through my mom's bedroom back to the hall.

     I walk into my bedroom, and calmness washes over me. The light greens and browns help me relax after another day of horrid school. I walk over to my closet. Underneath the quilts high on the wall, I pull out the big brown book with a metal owl on the front, which holds all my secrets. My journal. It is the only thing on this planet that knows my every thought and secret. As I write down today's entries, I don't bother to stop the tears falling down onto the old, fragile pages. Finished, I reach down to the floor and feel around for my favorite book. It can usually make me somewhat happy.

     When I hear my mom's car pull into the driveway, I shove the journal back into its hiding spot. I look into the mirror leaning against my wall, putting on the smile that usually masks my emotions. Wiping away the last of the tear stains that pattern my cheek, I make my way down the stairs, bracing myself for the complaints that come every day. There's always something that she complains about. We are too loud. She always does too much work. Us kids never appreciate her. My little brother is being rude. We don't hear her from all the way across the house. The list goes on, and on, and on. My personal favorite is that we don't do as well on our jobs as she did as a kid, and that if she didn't do a perfect job cleaning the house, her mom would try to kill her. The only thing is, we grew up with a mom who did not lose her temper, and was kind hearted until about two and a half years ago.

     Today, she had to go buy groceries because we were too busy cleaning the house to go shopping. She doesn't even look at things from our prospective. It's always her who is complaining. No one else but my little brother, Brook, complains. And that's only because he is the youngest and finds it his job to make my mom angry. We have to listen to the story of how she and her sisters always cleaned the whole house every weekend without complaining. How her mom would be so mean to them if everything wasn't perfect and spotlessly clean. But that's not our life, and we don't have that experience, so we don't really care. But she's too ignorant to accept how much work we already do, without doing her jobs. We clean the bathrooms, and the kitchen and bedrooms, we do all the yard work and all the vacuuming and sweeping. We cook all the meals, while she sits at her computer and screams at us for playing our music too loud. Sometimes I just want to run away. But I couldn't do that to my brothers. They are too weak to put up with her.

    * * *

     Later, I take Pete out on a walk. Walking in the forest always makes me feel at home. The trees and plants protect me, and help me escape from my life. Sometimes, I can almost hear words in the bird's cries. I love the feel of branches and leaves brushing my arms and face. The soft breeze carries the scent of the earth and flowers. There is a small pond that I love to visit. There is always an abundance of wildlife. Many spiders make webs on the plants. Bugs crawl around on fallen trees and the leaves covering the ground. Ducks and frogs make an interesting chorus, along with birds and crows.

     Also, the trail I take every day holds my three best friends. They are all the same type of tree. There is always sap coming out of one of them. Another has a large mark on it that appears as a large, melting heart. The third has nothing special that is noticeable, but I like it the best. Something about it feels most loving out of all of them. Every time I go on a walk I visit them, and if I don't visit them, it feels the same as ignoring your best friend. 

     There is a small swampy area just off the main trail that I like to go down and visit sometimes. The small pond sometimes dries up during the summer, and you can explore all the plants and stuff that was lost on the bottom. I once found a frog that did not like being on its stomach, so it always tried to roll onto its back. Also, I always find strange animal tracks, like huge bird feet and paws that do not look like a dog's. There are lots of fallen trees and branches, so I sometimes make a small fort to go and sit in. Pete doesn't like it as much because even though the swamp dries up, the ground is still really muddy and he sinks through a lot. When it isn't dry, there are some logs just on the water line that I can go and sit on. It is really beautiful, and if I sit still long enough, little birds will come and sit in front of me, and the ducks will come out to play.

     Today I brought my journal. I sometimes find it easier to express my emotions in the forest than in my house. Today I am writing about friends. It is Friday, which is normally a good thing, especially because there are only two more days of school. But today was Spring Fling at our school, and there was lots of drama. One of my friends felt abandoned, and when I was looking for everyone I tried to go and sit with her, but she yelled at me, "Why don't you leave me like everyone else!"  It was too much. I don't normally cry outwardly, but that brought me pretty close. The rest of the day sucked. Everyone was all upset because every time we tried to confront her, she ran away.

     I got a very good detailed entry in, so I started heading home. I said goodbye to my tree friends and all the birds and animals in the trees. There was no one at the park, and it was getting dark so I picked up my pace. Dinner probably needed to be made, and mom would be looking for me. Maybe she had grown impatient and just made the dinner for me. I walked through the door and set my journal on the small couch by the stairs. Sure enough, the smell of lemon chicken was filling the house. Maybe this time there would be enough dinner to make me full.


Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...