Blue-Eyed Boy: a vignette
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What do you do when the eyes looking back at you from the mirror are not yours? When you stop and feel like you must lean closer, seeing your familiar blue eyes gleaming, but knowing somehow those eyes aren't your eyes gleaming. You forget all the stories she told you teasingly when you were just a little kid (not now, you're older and smarter; you don't need any baby stories to sleep anymore).
Cameras to take your soul, mirrors to take your dreams.
So you lean to the mirror now, settling your weight on your toes and wrinkling your eyebrows; you place your hands on the counter, by the sink, and look – only look, quizzical and wary – at the blue of your eyes, but not, reflecting out at you.
"You're not me," you say suddenly, and it's true.
The reflection – not your reflection, but some other small boy's – smiles pleasantly. "No," it says in an agreeable manner, "I'm not. You really have grown into a smart chap, haven't you?"
You tilt your head to the side, study the reflection, and carefully ease your hands off the counter. "I want you to go away," you say as firmly as you can. "Please."
The reflection laughs, now, and it isn't even your voice anymore, but deeper and older. "You are your sister's blood, after all," it remarks, amused. "Do be the smart little child I know you to be, and tell her while I may not have power over her--" something twists in the reflection, no longer looks right "-- I certainly have power over you."
"Alright," you say slowly. "I guess I'll tell her."
It smiles, dark, at you and some unnoticed fog that had slowly crept into your thoughts vanishes. And now, with that smile reflected at you, you know you can't.
"No!" you backpedal, hitting the wall as you step hurriedly away. "I didn't mean to say that."
A sly, frightening sort of reminiscence crosses that face that isn't yours. "You mustn't regret what has been said," it chides mildly. "You won't be able to ever take them back."
"What?" you ask, not understanding.
"The words," it says with delight, and then the eyes are yours again, the reflection untainted and decidedly you.
But what will you do, if the blue eyes are no longer yours? If the mirror pulls you deep into a twisted and unnatural underworld?
You tell her and when she drops the glass she's holding, startling you both and cutting her palm, the reflection's voice laughs in the back of your mind.
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Disclaimer: Toby, Jareth, and Sarah belong to Henson, Froud, Lee, etc.
Feedback: Tremendously appreciated (especially concrit!).
Thanks To: bearries, Robyn Maddison (thanks for the peaches!), EclipseKlutz, and Lady-Misericordia (got your e-mail!). I appreciate all of your comments, and I'm glad you enjoyed the story. :]
