One-shot. Notice that I make one-shots at random points of my story for no reason; that's because I feel that one-shots are easier and a fun past-time when I have an author's block.

Yatlou: Notice that the author said she creates these marvelous one-shots when she has an author's block. That is a big hint people.

Me: You called my work marvelous. Yatlou, I never heard such kind words from your foul mouth. -wipes tear away-

Yatlou: Whatever. It's funny how the OC's in the one-shots never seem to have name.

Me: That's the point in my one-shot. They are unnamed in their mind-set, leaving them free to many options instead of being restrained by a label.

Yatlou: Hey, their is a brain in there!

Me: Shut up, I hope you enjoy this small one-shot.


Refraction of my Light

There she is, my host.

Across this barrier, there she stands in a close distance. Leaving me cursed to remain in the exact same place, relying on her for my fortune.

All she sees is her reflection, but I see my refraction.

In many tall tales, in many poems, in many stories, the mirror symbolized the pathway to an alternate universe where opposites seem to converge in one place, or the simple action to see oneself. Now, it is used to be a cursed item that haunts our wonders and tampers with our minds. As we enter a novel, we see the mirror as the person who sees our mistakes and demonstrates the true character inside us. The mirror is known to know more than we could ever realize. Have you noticed that the mirror, a simple household item, is wiser than we could ever be?

I'm not the mirror that would simply be preposterous for me to identify myself as an item. I am the person in the mirror. No, it isn't a pathway to a marvelous world, or a world ready to tilt in the wrong direction. I'm just trapped in this two-dimensional setting where all I can see is my host. I stare at her beautiful, shiny brown hair decorated with sun-streaks and tanned skin that has experienced the glorious power of the sun. All I can do is see and inspire her to keep dreaming. Hope that she still dreams.

You see, your reflection is just a dream. The mirror was the primary chosen item to express the hidden hope and imagination that all carry. A universe that can never touch filled with dreams that you create, construct, and achieve. Or abandon.

People create dreams and fight to achieve them. We are those dreams. We are what you want to be, not physically, that's genetic, but, mentally. We are what you want to be as a person. We are your character. We are...

Kind

Generous

Amicable

Patient

Understanding

Appreciated

Wanted

Respected

We are the person you want to be. However, each dream is locked away in your home. It is always there since home is where your heart is, with you. We can't communicate with each other because let's face it, technically, we don't exist. We are the hope that you carry that can never be tangible. You can only see us through the scientific action called reflection.

Reflection. We do look like you. We are in the shape and form of every person, but it is our personalities that neglect the rule of reflection. We are bended to the wrong way to demonstrate the person you want to become. Some wish to be kind and sweet. Others wish to be stronger and mean. We all have different opinions and goals. Those who wish for money, have it in this universe. Those who wish to be popular, have it in this universe. I'm not sure how that works since we can't see each other, but that's it works.

However, the mirror isn't the only thing that expresses out existence. As long as a phenomena has the ability to reflect, you will be able to see us and we will see you. Even though you can live for prospering years without us, we can't exist without you. You don't know it, but we chase you to bring the hope that you need to strengthen for us to live. Isn't it sad and pitiful to depend on someone else for your life? Then, thank your life, that you aren't a dream.

Dreams grow and live for many years and alter into different forms. I know that I am a dream because I can't change. The person in front of me controls me and I am vulnerable to it. She lives a world with a pure heart that beats with a pacing rhythm. I am the one that can't feel my surroundings, that lives a flat life. Why was I a dream? That is unknown.

The young ones always have the most inspiring thoughts and their dreams live for years. Nevertheless, all dreams disappear in the end. We usually don't reach the year of 40 because most adults kill us. We turn gray and simply vanish. People realize that dreams will stay dreams and leave us. We continue to see you through the mirror but with despair and hopeless, living in our hell. You are our murderer as you change our significance to nothing, but false hope and only face reality.

There are some lucky ones that do receive the chance to live. Those who dream and achieve those dreams have their dreams converted into a real life. Each dream that is accomplished is sent to become what you would call a baby. Those dreams still live until their form reach the three months when they grow accustom to the universe they live now. That is the wonderful auspicious perquisite that is given to us if we are accomplished by our host.

But, I don't believe that will be possible for me.

Right now, my host is giving up her dream. She is named Maximum Ride and I hold the same name without a doubt. I am her reflection.

I know as I had followed her through rain puddles, lakes and the flock. She sees me in their eyes. She doesn't acknowledge the fact, but that doesn't make it less truthful. It is unescapable just like I only can see a sunset if she looking at a mirror facing it. Like I said, she is in command.

Just like everyone else, she holds a dream, a desire. She created me and expressed her hopes in me to be able to stare at the them through any surface that reflects her image.

She wants to be normal. On the other hand, what is normal?

I tried to copy her dream, but I can never seem to get her desire. I'm 'normal'. So, what am I? Is she weird?

I even went to search to see what normal was, but it was contradicting. It seems to be an never-ending cycle that holds opposite meanings.

To be given options in her life- that's 'normal'

To be given orders in her life- that's 'normal'

Does she want to be free?

Being a rebel- that's 'normal'

Being obedient- that's 'normal'

Does she want to follow authority?

Forgiving others for their sins- that's 'normal'

Keeping a grudge towards sinners and avenge herself- that's 'normal'

Does she want to forgive others' mistakes?

Why did my host want to be normal when the concept of being "normal", in fact, whatever you want to be, except you have to be comfortable? Was she uncomfortable with her own thoughts? Did she want to be a mixture of everything? Literally because her universe all have different approaches towards the subject of being 'normal'.

She is recalcitrant.

She is generous.

She is brave.

She is powerful.

She is loved by many.

She is sarcastic.

She is creative.

She is a strategist.

She is a good leader.

Isn't that normal?

In the end, her biggest dream is to be with her flock forever. Why must she make me impossible? I can't create people. I am only one that can create two, but six? My "heart" can't be divided into 6 pieces, one for each. I might dematerialize myself at that moment.

Now, I'm disappearing just like the dream I saw through the window store. A little girl stood there staring at the clothing, ignoring the blank-eyed little girl that was staring at her back. The dream is gone, but the body is still there just like you. When you die, your body is still there, but your soul has fled. A disturbing thought? Probably. But, that what happens when you face reality.

She is losing hope and I'm leaving. Happiness runs through me as I won't trapped in this place, but I feel pain. I'm a failure. Discarded and abandon. A broken dream.

Why?

Her flock is disappearing and her mind is recognizing the fact that she will never be "normal".

I acknowledge that fact as the last time I saw her. She was tear-streaked with burned ashes covering her face, and she was crawling the dirt, screaming, yelling. For what? I don't know. She stared at people and was comforted by a blond and brunette. I gazed as her eyes seem to lose brightness twice as fast as the brunette left with the others. Not even the blond filled them with a vibrant aura instead they seem to dulled at his presence. I counted only four people that I have seen her since the beginning. Two have left her. She can't be with her flock.

I can't complete her flock.

That is already 1/6 of me gone.

She spread her beautiful brown spotted wings from her back to rise from the ground to the other flock. The one that was leaving the opposite way from the brunette. Her wings. Humans didn't have wings that exploded from their backs. Many will deny the fact and disparage her. In her universe's eyes, she is different. She can't be normal.

I can't fix physical appearances.

That is already 1/2 of me gone.

All is left for her is to believe, but I find that unlikely. Everyone will have to die, so she can't be with her flock forever.

I can't go against death.

That is the remaining of me gone.

My future will be this mirror, but hopefully, that won't be the last time I see her with bright eyes. Hopefully, I'll still be staring at her instead of standing there with her identical body and eyes of a porcelain doll. Hopefully, I'll still live instead of filling the reflected body with tainted air of disheartenment and disconsolateness.

I want to be accomplished, but the probability is unfavorable.

Because only 1/3 of me is left.

Only 1/3 of my light is refracting.


What do you think? Like it? Hate it?

Yatlou: Well, I think it is awful.

Me: You only say that because it is about Max.

Yatlou: It's about Maximum, really? I mean there are some many other girls in the world with brown-spotted wings.-sarcasm-

Me: Really? I would love to meet these girls. Maybe, I could write a story about them.

Yatlou: Every single time. Are you idiot? Because you never catch on my sarcastic remarks.

Me: Probably, but tell that to my 100 I.Q. store. I made a perfect score!

Yatlou: That was from an online test. Those make even the stupidest of people seem smart in those in order to pull a scam.

Me: Nope. I got a hundred! I finally reach your intelligence level, Yatlou. I mean nobody can get pass a 100.

Yatlou: 150.

Me: What?

Yatlou: I got a 150 in your stupid online test.

Me: -silent-

Yatlou: -smirks-

REVIEW