My father kept strange things in the attic. When he wasn't paying any attention to me, I would run up the small rickety ladder to the room above the ceiling and explore among the treasures hidden there. They would often be covered in dust and cobwebs, but once they were cleared away they would reveal so many interesting things. Old photographs in black and white. A large grandfather clock that no longer ran. Trunks full of formal clothing better suited for times long past. Medals of fought wars with the names tarnished out.
It was among one of my trips that I found myself in a previously undiscovered corner looking at something covered by an old sheet. My curiosity never truly satisfied, I grasped the edge of the sheet and tugged on it, pulling it across to show what was hidden beneath it. When the dust that had risen from the grey cloth had settled, it revealed a large bronze frame, decorated in ornate patterns and carved symbols I did not understand. The frame held a long piece of polished glass and my gaze rested on my reflection. I smiled and my reflection waved to me cheerfully.
I froze. My hands were still hanging by my sides, yet this other me was clearly waving. When I made no motion to return he faltered, lowering his hand slightly and losing the brightness of his smile. I backed away from the mirror, nearly tripping over my own feet, and the boy seemed to understand that I was frightened and was about to leave. He tried to reach out to me, stopped by the glass separating us, and his mouth moved as though he was saying something but the sound would not escape his prison. This was too much for me and I ran out of the attic, crashing down the stairs and straight into the living room which currently held my father.
He looked up at my loud intrusion before focusing once again on his paperwork in front of him. My heart was racing as I tried to gain his attention. "There's a boy in the mirror!"
My father sighed, running a hand through his hair at the interruption. "I don't have time for this. The other boy is your own reflection. Now please, go play elsewhere."
No matter how much I whined, I couldn't seem to convince my father that there was a strange mirror that held another boy. I was dismissed as making up stories, and I grumbled as I hid in my room for the rest of the afternoon, throwing worrying glances at the ceiling.
It took nearly a week for me to be able to visit the attic once again. I had convinced myself that I had merely been seeing something that was a product of my imagination. And though I was afraid to climb the stairs again, I cautiously approached them and stepped up. The entire trip up and towards that corner had me hoping that I had made up the entire thing up, but a small part hoped that he would be there waiting for me.
As I neared the mirror, I could see him still within his glass confines. He was sitting on the floor, his back to me, most likely pouting at the lack of attention. I sat on the attic floor opposite him and tried to think of a way to gain his attention. He didn't seem to be able to hear my approach, so I assumed that he couldn't hear me through the barrier like how I was unable to hear him. I waited for a while, before the boy seemed to feel he was no longer alone. He glanced over his shoulder and was shocked to see me watching him intently. He turned so that he was now facing me and dragged a sleeve across his face before he would look at me again.
From further study of the boy in the mirror, I found that he did look like me though something was off, but I couldn't quite place what that something was. We wore the same clothes, our heights and bodies were roughly about the same, and we both had messy blonde hair surrounding similar faces. It did seem that he was indeed my reflection, but slightly different.
Communication between us was difficult. Neither one of us could hear the other speak, so we resorted to using charades in an attempt to understand what we wanted to say. I continually tried to ask "Who are you?" but the boy never seemed to understand what I wanted to know.
And now I had a new activity to fill up my afternoons. I would once again climb the ladder to the dark attic space and pass by all the forgotten treasures to find the boy still resting in the old mirror in the back. He always smiled and waved as I would approach and his mouth would move as though he was speaking and I would return the movements, in this case I was the one copying my own reflections movements.
We then tried to talk to each other for hours. I would try to describe to him my father, though I hoped he understood from my description of him which often included me trying to emphasize my eyebrows. I would describe what I had done that day, what I was studying in school, and what new food I had discovered. The boy paid attention to every little detail I made, smiling through most of it with his large eyes seeming to sparkle in wonder at what lay beyond the room that held his mirror.
When I ran out of things to tell him, I would go back through the attic and hold things up for him to show him what I had found. We looked through all of the curling photographs making comments on each one and trying to describe to each other what we thought was happening in them. He looked at the strange clothes with confusion, his head tilting to the side as he examined them with me.
He became my closest friend. I knew few others, and my father would frequently leave on business trips and it would be just me living in the large house by myself. I had found ways to occupy myself, but the existence was a lonely one. That was how I found my way into the attic in the first place. I would endlessly wander my empty home that was much too large for just one small boy to live in. I knew there would be no one to find here, yet I was driven to search it. The only noises were the ones I made and were carried around the empty rooms.
Perhaps it wouldn't have been so lonesome if I had a pet, but my father wasn't pleased by the idea. He didn't think me able to care for something on my own and didn't want to clean up after two others' messes. I think he was much too busy to realize how lonely I had become.
And so my days were filled with visits to the attic and to the boy with the same face who always smiled in greeting to me and I couldn't help the grin that would spread across my face in return. I was no longer afraid of this boy, or the strange circumstances that had resulted in his appearance. I searched the mirror to be able to understand how or why the boy was trapped in there. The symbols along the mirrors edge I could not recognize from any language I had seen so I wouldn't know where to begin to translate them if they even meant anything at all. I looked behind the mirror, much to the confusion of the other boy, seeing if there was something hidden behind. A door perhaps that would open I could release the boy from his confines and he could join me in this world.
I would have loved for him to leave the glass and the attic with me. I wanted to show him the rest of the house, the rest of this world. I would take him to go get ice cream in the park because I was sure he would like that as much as I did. And we could play games together when my father was gone. And at night I wouldn't have to face the darkened house alone.
And so I searched for a way to free him, though nothing I thought of seemed to work. At one point I considered breaking the glass wall that separated us, but I feared that once it was shattered I would forever lose my friend. That was something I couldn't risk.
I ran out of things to share with him one day, and sat quietly on the dust covered floor of the attic. My father was home, but I didn't want to disturb him and had quietly snuck up here to be comforted by my friend. He must have noticed my depressed mood, as he had watched me quietly sulk on the floor across from him. His gaze turned sympathetic and he held a hand against the glass.
I felt comforted in the gesture and I carefully moved closer to place my hand against his. He smiled further when I copied his motions and I closed my eyes for a moment relaxing at the connection I had with someone else.
When I opened my eyes, the boy leaned back away from the glass and withdrew his hand. I watched him, wondering what he was doing as he leaned down and traced a finger along the dust that was gathered on the floor of the attic. His finger moved carefully, and I waited as he spelled out something. When he pulled his hand away, I could make out the words he had written: AT LAST.
I had no idea what that meant, but writing in the dust was an excellent idea. I could do that as well and looked down the floor to find that I was no longer sitting in my attic. Instead I was in a dark empty space and the only light was what was coming from the large rectangular window that showed the other boy now standing in my attic.
He smiled at me and his mouth moved to tell me something that was unable to penetrate the glass barrier. He waited while I put all of the final pieces together, and looked at him in shock. He was going to take my place in the real world and there was hardly anything I could do about it.
I beat my fists against the glass and screamed. This didn't seem to faze the boy at all. How could someone just take over my life? Surely my father would notice if someone else stood in my place. I knew he was busy and rarely had time for me, but that shouldn't mean that he wouldn't recognize the imposter.
With all hope of escaping the mirror fading quickly I just looked at the boy in desperation. The boy shrugged and reached out to grasp the sheet that still hung from the mirror. His eyes never left my face as he slowly pulled the sheet across the mirror to hide it from view once again. It was in those last moments that I finally realized what it was that was different about that boy when compared to me. His eyes were violet, where as mine had always been sky blue.
The last thing I saw before facing the never-ending darkness was my smiling violet eyed reflection's face as he tugged the sheet fully across the mirror and left to go slip into my life.