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by Mia
Rated: E · Other · Experience · #1712771
little story, writing response to Plato's Allegory of the Cave
My blue light up Nikes hit the pavement with a twack, exploding into a lightshow of reds and whites as I run towards the turnstile. I excitedly stuff in a ticket and glance back over my shoulder at my older brother. “Come on wrobert! This is going to be so much fun!” I shout over my shoulder as I step forward, the turnstile bar clicks as I push it forward and step into the house. “I’m going to finish it first!” I shout back over my shoulder and runoff into the maze, my blond hair streaming out behind me.
Soon I’m lost, faced with fifteen of me, none of which are any help. They point me in the wrong direction and run me into dead ends. Just at the edge of my field of vision I see a shaggy brown head moving towards me. “wrobert!” I shout happily, glad to see he’s here to lead me out of this labyrinth of insanity. I turn and run full force towards him. SMACK. Face plant. Right into the polished surface. I collapse onto the floor tears blurring the clones that cry with me. There all looking right at me. I turn to face one only to find it staring back, damp blue eyes, face tight with anguish. Then footsteps, orange tennis shoes on the wooden plank floor.
“Crying isn’t going to get you out of here,” he says with a laugh. I hug his leg, clinging to it like a life ring in churning waters. Gripping his hand tightly, he leads me out of the maze. We walk out the exit, leaving our clones behind. As we step though the door into the sun we are met by two figures looking straight at us. A little blond girl in blue Nikes, clinging to her older brother. The images are distorted, frightened she ducks behind his leg. “Silly it’s just the mirror, it distorts the picture. I promise you haven’t changed a bit.” He smiles down at her and affectionately flicks her forehead with his pointer finger.
She looks up at him with big innocent, blue eyes. “Wrobert, I don’t think I liked the House of Mirrors.”
© Copyright 2010 Mia (patchtrag1290 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1712771