Monday's Minute Challenge

Aubrey walked through the overgrown brush with vigor. Her ankles were grabbed at by curly-cue vines and angry thistles, but she kept moving straight ahead toward the old ferris wheel. Her sacred spot was still untouched and she sat in the niche that was molded by her body. She looked up to the sky and the squeaky iron seats while her shaky hands tried to light a cigarette.

“One last time right?” she asked the sky. “One more time today. Perfect day right? Same day you did it? Same day you gave up?” she coughed harshly. “Better get it  over with before winter comes. Before the leaves fall off this place—everything dies. Better hurry before autumn comes. Be the first thing to fall…” she trailed off in her delusional murmuring. Her unsteady hands couldn’t seem to work the lighter, and Aubrey retaliated, shouting curse words.

Another sound echoed among the iron bars and foliage. A barking golden retriever ran underneath the leaves, whining and whimpering at the girl with curls tucked under a grey hoodie. “No, Maxwell…no! Go away! –don’t want you here…go…” he hung his head. “before winter comes, finish it.” Aubrey shook her head, unsteady and dizzy. “give up. Easy. Like mother like…”

“Excuse me?” Aubrey looked up and saw a tall man far along in years looking down at her. She immediately stood to scare him off, but her shaky legs couldn’t hold the weight. The man steadied her, “I’m sorry, I know I probably shouldn’t intrude, but I couldn’t help overhearing.”

Aubrey looked at him, wanting to cut him off, but she didn’t have anything to say.

“Listen Aubrey.” She was startled to hear her name. “I think we should talk about this first…about your mother.”

“H-how did you…?”

“Let’s go inside.” He said.

Monday's Minute Challenge

The young black-haired girl ran her thumb over the leaf and the sticky red substance coating it. Blood. She pulled its crumbling brown form from the end of the arrow. She had hit something, but whatever that something was, it was still stalking the woods she now roamed in. 

Amalia wiped the blood from her hand onto a cloak just as red.“Granny bless this place, keep me alive in…” she hadn’t yet begun her description of the tangled forest when a snap echoed behind her like the sound of china shattering in an empty hall. Her hand gripped the arrow tightly, ready to use its point as a weapon. Amalia waited until she was aware of a rushing wind and a hot breath close upon her. She turned swiftly towards it, her arrow poised for attack. She aimed for the flash of fur and teeth, but before the arrow was displaced a centimeter, she felt her arm snap back behind her.

Amalia almost cried out, but found it did not hurt. More than that, she found when she looked cautiously, that the wolf had only her sleeve in its mouth…it had not dared to bite her. It waited intently, staring at her with emerald eyes that did not blink. Though its posture appeared aggressive, it made no move to attack her. Amalia understood and dropped the  arrow. The wolf in turn released her torn red sleeve. “Why-“ she began, but a low growl from the wolf’s throat silenced her. It looked beyond her, over her shoulder at a massive shadow. Despite her cloak Amalia felt a chill run up her spine. She caught a slight reflection in the wolf’s eyes and gasped.

There was something much bigger, and much more evil in this wood. And it waited behind her.

Lace A. Narrator
300 words

Riddles and Reflections

When first I appear, I seem mysterious, but when I'm explained, I'm nothing serious...

 What am I?                                                           

I have always loved this riddle, ever since I was young. Not only because it appears in my favorite audio production at the time, The Song of the Unicorn, nor because of its later recurring appearance in what became my favorite musical, Into the Woods. Rather I loved it because of its elegance and simplicity. The fact that its answer was in its very nature, that                                the answer was its own name. 

                                                                                                         A Riddle. 

I am myself when I become my opposite...what am I?

This is a riddle I composed myself, far too vague to catch on anywhere as a mind-boggling masterpiece, but interesting enough to consider here. The answer is a reflection. When you take the opposite of a mirror image, what you actually have is the original form, which would in turn be a reflection of the "self" in the riddle- the first reflection. The original form of the riddle that I wrote was this:

 My shape becomes yours when I become my opposite. But if I become myself a second time, I will also take your form. 

This version was dumped because frankly, the other was shorter and more poetic. In this draft though, you add yourself into the equation. And now we get to the point of all this. 

    
Is it odd to think that the opposite of your reflection is you? Isn't it supposed to be that when you look in the mirror you see yourself? Or even in the Mulan-esque moments when you know you won't see yourself, shouldn't you be seeing more than the opposite? At least more that the strict contradiction of everything that you are? Well luckily mirrors and reflections have value and don't show only the opposite, save in direction. But it begs the question, how much distortion does a mirror give us? or any reflection? And how much power should something so distorted be allowed to have?

Fortunately, and unfortunately, we are the ones who decide how much power we grant to such a thing, and often times it is too much. You can read countless stories or blogs on what giving power to the society-distorted image of a perfect reflection can do to women, but I would like to focus on a different kind of reflection: the one you give off of your character and self. It can be one of the most powerful reflections, and it can easily become distorted.

Any reflection should reflect you, not the opposite of you. What you reflect to others of your character, should be who you are. We need to be careful of two things in this: We must not reflect a false self. And we should be cautious that we are not projecting ourselves in a way that is easily misinterpreted.

Often we reflect negative emotions that sometimes bounce off us, coming from other's negativity, and sometimes originate in our heart. If we do so constantly, the reflection of a moment will combine to form in our audience's eyes the reflection of a person. Any "projection" will do this. Have you seen inception? The projections were creations that came from the character's mind, and became reality (in the dream). What we project will become to others the reality of who we are. 

We also need to take heed in this area because the Bible tells us that what we have in our hearts will spillover outwardly. We may think that people are only misinterpreting what we reflect, but the "reflection" is truly going to be the overflow of our hearts, which reveals who we are, and it's important to know who you are. The false self issue is an even longer discussion, one that your English and philosophy classes might cover in studying "identity" as mine did, but this has become much more than I intended and I fear if I continue I will never finish. What I want to leave you with is just the inkling of this idea. I want to make you think, not tell you what to think or how. 

If you have any points you would like to add, criticisms or sparks to begin discussion, comment below.

  The Story Weaver                                                                                                  
  Lace A. Narrator