Get it for
Apple iOS.
Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1307015-A-Tale-of-the-Talking-Mirror
Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
No ratings.
Rated: E · Fiction · Entertainment · #1307015
A fiction about a boy who loves to dream.
He ran like the wind. His feet burst with energy. For the first time in over a month, Timmy felt alive.

“Timmy, where are you?” Lannay’s voice echoed from tree to tree, reaching his ears like thunderbolts. “Timmy!”

He galloped to distance himself from Lannay. He must get away from her. He had to get away. If he didn’t do it this time, he knew he’ll never get away. Farther and farther he commanded his legs to widen the gap between him and Lannay. Faster and faster he bounded over rocks, hurdling mere inches off fallen tree trunks, crossing muddy puddles with a hop and a skip. He grimaced each time a branch stung his face.

Breathless after his sprint, Timmy found a tree and leaned against it. He felt sure he left Lannay way behind, probably a hundred miles where he hoped she decided to remain instead of keeping up with him. He brushed the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. He breathed a little easier as he rested.

He looked up at the trees, eyeing the branches that swayed in the breeze and noticing the leaves that seemed greener through the sunlight of the morning hour. The wildness of the forest caught him at his throat, and he coughed to ease the burning sensation.

Timmy’s knees knocked against each other. His legs felt like jelly. His eyes drooped as he fought to keep them open. The ground looked inviting. His legs folded under him and he slumped next to the tree. He turned to his side, pulled his knees to his chest, and fell into a deep sleep before he had time to think.

“Ouch!” Timmy awoke, jumped up, and rubbed his back. It felt tender and sore. He turned around, fully awake.

“Wow,” he burst out. “What’s a door doing at the foot of a tree?” He yanked at the knocker. “You hurt my back, shame on you,” he scolded.

He wiggled the knocker. It felt cold. He released the knocker with a push. It clanged against the door.

“Gee, this door looks very old. I wonder if it opens?” He mumbled, poking at every little hole.

“Hmm,” he scratched his head, “ there’s no key.”

“ I wonder what’s behind the door?” He kicked it. The knocker bounced but the door remained closed. Slivers of sweat ran down the side of his face. Deep lines formed on his forehead. He crouched in front of the door. He fixed his eyes on the knocker.

“Gosh,” he whispered, “why won’t it open?”

At that very moment, he heard Lannay calling him. He jabbed at the tiny door again. He held the knocker with both hands. He pulled at it and banged at the door. Still, it stayed closed. He got up, breathing hard. He looked around, making sure Lannay was not about to grab him. She had a habit of showing up. He needed to hurry.

“Hokus, pokus,” he said without thinking, a silly grin on the side of his mouth. He gave the door a slight push with his toe. It whimpered like a baby. Timmy stepped back, his eyeballs starkly wide. He shuddered. He clasped his hands to stop them shaking. The door grunted and moaned until it squeaked to a stop. He kneeled and pressed his face to the door, and saw smoke swirling inside. He straightened up, shaking his head and coughing.

“This is weird,” he muttered, staring at the door. Timmy crouched and shoved his hand through the opening. In an instant, he disappeared.

He found himself in a long, dark tunnel.

“Wow, how did I get here? How did I get through the tiny door?”

He peered through the darkness and noticed a light at the far end. He followed it, his arms stretched in front as he groped for something to hold on. He took small steps. The swirling smoke thinned gradually when he advanced toward the light. He stopped inches away from another door, a larger one this time. He entered through and found himself in a white room, empty except for a chair in front of a mirror in the far corner.

“Weirder and weirder,” Timmy murmured. “Hello, anybody here?”

Silence met him. He shuffled toward the mirror. It hissed, sizzled, and turned into the fuzziest glass he had ever seen. It was completely covered in steam as he stared at it.

Timmy stopped short behind the chair. His eyes darted from one corner of the room to the rest of the room. He felt watching eyes on him.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry I came in without knocking,” he mumbled, watching the darkest  corner for any movement.

The mirror cleared of steam and was replaced by the figure of a man with a full greyish beard and a crop of white hair on top of his head. The man’s face wrinkled with lines, his nose seemed to lean to his left side, his fingers gnarled like twisted branches of an old tree, and his eyes darted warily from Timmy to the chair and to the rest of the room.

“Sit yourself down, please,” the man’s voice sounded hollow and faint.

“I beg your pardon, Sir?” Timmy said.

“Sit down, please,” the man said, his voice sounded much louder.

“Thank you, Sir,” Timmy sat on the chair, his eyes glued to the mirror.

The bearded man’s eyes examined Timmy from his head down to his shoes. Timmy felt the man’s hand, patting him on the shoulders, his tummy, then his legs. But he didn’t see his hands move. “Weird,” he whispered to the side of his face.

“Why are you here, Timmy?” The old man’s eyes pierced into Timmy’s.

“I’m running away from Lannay, Sir.”

“Who is Lannay?” The old man’s stare probed Timmy’s inner thoughts.

“She is a Nanny, Sir.”

“Why are you running away from a Nanny?” The old man’s eyes detected Timmy’s little secret.

“She is a witch, Sir.” Timmy’s eyelids felt heavy.

“A witch? Are you scared of a witch?” The man in the mirror smiled.

“No, Sir, I’m not afraid of Lannay.”

“Then, what do you want from me?” The old man’s smile widened into a grin.

“May I have super powers, Sir, so I can make Lannay go away?”

The bearded man exploded in ripples of laughter. His cheeks glowed golden, his eyes turned into orbs of laser lights, and his tummy undulated into wavelets, forming folds of ripples that Timmy compared to the waves in his swimming pool.  As he watched the old man in the mirror, his eyes felt heavier until they closed completely, sending him into a deep, deep sleep.

The footsteps neared as Timmy awoke with a start. He sat up, aware of the running steps that echoed like claps of thunder. He looked at his hands. They were intact. He touched his face, eyes, nose, and ears. They were all there. He sprung to his feet and searched for the door at the foot of the tree. It wasn’t there. The footsteps sounded nearer. In the distance through a break between the trees, he saw Lannay hurrying towards him. Without hesitation, he lifted his right arm, pointed at Lannay, and uttered:          “Stop right there!”

“Omigosh,” Timmy exclaimed. “She stopped. I made her stop.” He dashed to where Lannay stood. “Gosh, I hope she’s all right.”

He touched Lannay lightly on the arm. She didn’t move. Timmy stared and actually felt sorry for Lannay. Instead, he touched her again and said, “Goodbye, Lannay, please go back where you came from.”

Timmy turned around and skipped toward home. He stopped, turned to make sure Lannay had gone. He smiled and ran all the way home, shouting, “whoopee”.  As he stepped indoors, he felt very, very sleepy again. He fell into his bed and didn’t wake up until the next day.

The End

© Copyright 2007 elephantsealer (liliapadwes at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1307015-A-Tale-of-the-Talking-Mirror