Dad left for Saudi today…and i was such in a bad mood before he left…i was annoyed that i couldn’t have given him a more heartfelt goodbye…but then again…i didn’t regret my annoyance..after all, my hostility is lessened because of this…i’m just not sure how long this one will last
There’s something very annoying about a blinking cursor on a white blank sheet of paper right in front of you. It seems to taunt you, to make fun of you until you go mad. When that happens, you simply move the mouse and close the program. Voila! No more annoying, blinking, black line.
Mental block is a horrid ordeal especially for those who live by words and through words. Aren’t you glad I seldom have this? Or else you wouldn’t be reading this right now.
Reflections of Nothing
By: Sam Williams
When I look in the mirror, I was always amazed at how it perfectly mimics inversely the objects seemingly outside of it, for I always thought the mirror was a window to another place. But now things have changed.
I remember a time when I didn’t care about things. I would just sit on my bed and play with my toys. I had a doll. I called her Cheryl and she had blonde flowing hair that came up to her shoulders. Her eyes were glass and color blue. Looking through it reminded me of looking at the mirror.
In those days, those simple times, I didn’t have to pretend. I didn’t have to put a mask on. I didn’t have to be “that” person.
When did it all start? When did I become “that” person? I cannot remember. All I can remember was the enigmatic presence of the mirror. Was it really that bad? Was it really that painful that I had to become what I had become? Or was it that “that” person was the one who felt bad, who felt pain and became what she has become? I don’t know. I wish I’ll never know. But the mirror is still there. It makes me remember. It makes me know what I do not wish to know. How I wish I can break that mirror.
Shattering into a million pieces, that is my wish for it. Only bits and fragments shall remain and I shall never have to know. Just a bunch of little things will reflect the light to the walls and the ceilings. No one will see it again.
He came to the town of
Villa , quiet and peaceful like so many of his journeys. However, he has learned that the most quiet and peaceful towns are most likely the ones who have sad spirits.
Spirits. Yes. That was it. Why did they have to take her? Why? Or rather, why just her? She was not the only one. Was he not one as well? Why must spirits constantly haunt their paths, his and all like him?
He paused as he reached the main road and discarded his appearance as one throws a cloak aside after getting in. And so, he appeared like everybody else. He was tall, has jet black hair, and had fairly brown skin as that of one who spends his time beneath the sun. He had big brown eyes that were accustomed to darkness as well as light. In this way, he looked like her. Well, in a manner of speaking. Her face was a bit rounder than his and fuller. Her eyes a bit bigger or rather more emphasized than his.
He walked slowly in the brisk morning air. People from the village arise one by one to start the day. All of them were a bit surprised to see a visitor in their town. And a visitor always means a grand welcome. He sensed their anticipation and therefore proceeded to the town hall. Somehow, he must get accustomed to this kind of treatment. Somehow, he must adjust himself to the life of a traveler…well, until she comes back.
“Good Day, sir!” said he who appears to be the mayor. “And wha’ brings a man like yourself to our ‘umble little town?”
The question was supposed to be regarded as a welcome and paid with a smile or some pleasant reaction. However, he feels as if the mayor had all of this prearranged and the welcome remark with the town’s unusual accent was recited over and over before. So, he simply coughed and replied, “Good Day. I am a traveler from afar.”
The mayor, who was a good-natured person, neither seemed angry nor hurt at the simple unemotional response from him. “Well, seems you be needin’ much res’ en.”
“Much what?” asked he.
“Res’ of carse!” said the mayor. “I said, you be needin’ much res’.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I am not familiar with your accent.”
“Don’cha worry, boy. You’ll getta ‘ang of it. Bee the way, I be the mayor of ‘is town, Villa. Pleasure to meet you!” said the mayor as he extended his hand.
“Thanks. I’m…” he was about to introduce himself when he recalled all of the things she called him, so many were they. He couldn’t possibly use his own name. He’d use one of the ones she used and his least favorite, or so he presumed. “Call me Stick. It’s my nickname, so to say.”
“Well ‘en, Stick. You’d bes’ sleep far now. We mus’ dash on with all the arrangemen’s far your comin’.”
The mayor took Stick’s arm and together they went out. They walked the busy streets that were all too peaceful not long ago, ‘til they came upon an inn. It was a bit old but well kept and it looked cozy, much like her room, their place.
“ ‘Is place be the bes’ of all inns. You’re welcome to say far as long as you like.”
“Thanks very much!”
She looked out the window and saw him for what he truly was. Was he like her? No. But he was definitely unlike the others or “that” person. Curious, she went down to meet her new guest.
“Welcome!” said a charming woman, if you can call her that. She was rather short but had a mature air about her. “To the Glass Inn,” she continued.
“Good day!” he answered politely.
“ ‘Ow long we’ll you be stayin’ ‘en…uhm, sir?”
“Stick’s the name. And…uhm…I’m not sure how long.”
“I see. Well, doncha worry. We do ‘ave someone like you sometimes and we’re prepared far such.” She went behind a counter and pulled a record book from under the table. “Id be bes’ if you get a good res’ tonight first. I’ll be givin’ you the bes’ room in me inn.”
She said all of this with a smile but he had realized there was something different about her. She wasn’t like him but she wasn’t like the others here as well. Her accent is too perfect, as if she had mimicked it from everyone in the town. Her movements and gestures seem to have been practiced. It was as if she was imitating someone. But those were just his thoughts. This is foreign territory. He doesn’t have the right to say anything even if his observations are as acute as that of a hunter stalking his prey. “Thanks!” was all he said as he took the keys and began to walk towards the stairs.
But then she reacted. And her reaction was that of a person who he has missed dearly. He turned around and looked at her when she said the words, “Very articulate, arencha?” The words kept ringing in his ears. Very articulate arencha? Very articulate aren’t cha? Very articulate aren’t you?
“Very articulate, aren’t you?” she said, her lips forming a simple smile. “You never say much these days, you know.” She laughs with amusement. “Too bad. Sometimes you’re the only one I can talk to, Mr. Stick.”
You’re the only one I can talk to, Mr. Stick. Mr. Stick. Sir Stick.
“Sir Stick?” asked the girl frightened. “You seem to be starin’ elsewhere. You had me worried qui’e a bit.”
“What?” he asked, trying to understand what she said. “Did you mean quite?”
“ ‘At’s wha’ I said…I said qui’e,” she explained.
“Right. Sorry.” He turned and climbed the stairs.
“Peculiar Man,” she thought. “He didn’t even ask my name.”
He went up to his room silently. His long coat touched the ground as he walked briskly through the corridors. He found his room at the end of it. He put the key in the keyhole and entered it without further ceremony or thought. He locked the door the moment he was inside. Without hesitation he returned to his true form. He jumped on top of the bed and lied there looking at the window. He was so tired. He licked his paws that were a bit sore and finally closed his eyes.
A slow rapping on the door woke him up. He jumped out of his bed and opened the door for as quick as lightning, he has changed his form. He looked out and saw a note lying on the floor, and not a trace of life which might have left it aside from the continued flickering of the candle-lighted lamps of the corridors. He carefully took the note with his (he now realized) cold fingers and began to read it inside the room.
She saw him go inside with her note and she felt relieved. That was one job done and a bunch more to go. This would be a busy day since a traveler has come to town and noon was fast approaching.
As he closed the door he began to read. The note goes:
Sir Stick,
You are expected at the town square at noon sharp and to prepare yourself for a grand feast this afternoon until evening. I apologize because I had to force you to read instead of telling you. I just did not want you to be disturbed knowing you must be tired and all that.
Your Innkeeper,
Sy
“Oh Great,” he thought. “A feast for me, just what I needed to hide myself.” He sighed and looked around. He had no luggage aside from the small backpack he carried always. He had no need for clothes or food. He could hunt and he seldom changed his form. “Prepare? With what?” Another sigh. “I guess they’ll just have to get used to how I look.”
Barely had he finished his sentence when a black cat entered his room from a window which disappeared as instantly as it appeared. He looked at the cat unsurprised and turned away to face the mirror.
“There is no mirror there,” said a female voice. And true enough there was no mirror in front of him.
“They said this was the best room in the inn and they don’t even have a mirror in it,” he said in reply. “It has no windows as well. And to think, this place is called The Glass Inn.”
The cat simply looked at him. He stared into the cat’s big yellow eyes and let himself be absorbed in it. In an instant a beautiful maiden was in front him sitting on the bed where the cat was.
“You know, Wolfe,” said the girl. “The concept of ‘best’ or bes’ as this town put it, is different for different people. Could it not be that the best room in The Glass Inn for the innkeeper is the room with no glass at all?”
“I’ve thought of that. I’m not dense,” he replied but without emotion and with no intention to injure. He looked at the maiden who was rolling and making herself comfortable in the bed. “For a moment I thought you to be a familiar, what of you coming here black and all that.”
She stopped and looked at him sternly. “I am not a lowly familiar,” she said with a hiss. Then in an amused tone, “You know I’m not.”
“You can also be the sphinx, you know. The way you talk in riddles.”
“No. No. No,” she said smiling. She stands up and discards her playful attitude switching to a more seductive tone, her true self. Her hands circled his neck and her cheeks brushed his as she whispered, “Who am I really?”
He didn’t do anything. He didn’t shake at her warm breath or stiffen at her touch. He simply answered, “Get away, Bastet!”
The woman quickly withdrew. “About time, my dear. Now we can talk business.”
“We both know I don’t answer to you,” he said realizing the sudden shift and the true purpose of the Kemetic Goddess.
She smiled her feline smile, the smile that lured so many into her claws. “Now, now is that the way to talk to someone who has been referred to as your mommy?”
“No matter how the olden times connected you and called you the same, both of you are still different, and I’m not referring to your pantheons,” he said firmly. “I answer only to her of whom my mother has chosen.”
“Yes, yes. But Artemis could not see your full potential as I do, child,” she explained. “You see? She made you a slave to that infernal flower when you could have had more purpose when you serve us instead. She has lessened your importance…”
“Shut up! Or I shall, gods and goddesses be my witness, turn you mortal.”
Bastet was silenced. “I was only thinking of you.”
“Are you sure you weren’t thinking of the sacrifice and the possible priestess I could have given you?”
“You are as fore-seeing as the oracles of your mother’s twin. Very well, to show you that I did not mean you any harm, I present you with this gift.” She waved her hand and a beautiful set of hat, coat and boots lay on the bed.
“Gift? You mean gifts,” he corrected. When he looked at Bastet, she had already turned back into the black cat.
“By the way, I hope you will think about our earlier discussion regarding your room. It might be a clue on what your purpose in Villa really is.”
He watched her jumped off the bed to the wall. A window appeared and she went through it before it finally vanished. He looked at the bed and at the gifts Bastet had left for him. “That went well,” he said. He picked up the note that fell from his hands when Bastet came along. “Sy,” he murmured. “What are you doing here?”
The ceremony was held. It was fun and festive but to him, uneventful. People ate and drank and welcomed him into their “ ‘umble town”. Women made him dance for a while and drink a little but they could not persuade him to join them away from the crowd. One thing he did notice was Sy’s behavior. She was acting like all the other girls. ALL. The way she laughs and smiles were like perfect imitations. To him, it was as if she was…a mirror. Yes. Now that he thinks about it she was exactly like one, reflecting everyone’s way of living, their actions, their speech and even their attitudes. “How very appropriate that she should be the innkeeper of The Glass Inn,” he said to himself.
When the feast was nearing its end, Stick asked the mayor if he could be excused for he was tired. The mayor eyed the young man, his new coat, boots and hat caught his attention. He presumed that Stick must have been from quite afar indeed to be able to have such clothing. He excused his guest but let the town bid him goodnight first.
Stick was glad of the flexibility of the mayor and his generosity for someone he barely knows. And although he wanted very much to show his gratitude it had become apparent that he had business to attend to. Besides, it was not like he could have shown it very effectively. He went straight back to the inn but did not proceed to his room. Instead he headed for Sy’s room.
She looked around her. Nothing. There was nothing but reflections of one object bouncing from one mirror to another creating a sort of kaleidoscope with her at the center of it. Still, all of this was nothing.
He opened the door and found her sitting at the center of the room. But what was truly amazing aside from the fact the entire room was filled with mirrors or rather that each side of the wall was a large mirror, was that though she was standing at the center no reflection of her could be seen in any of them. He entered the room and saw his reflection, a wolf, bouncing from one mirror to another showing five of his forms. She simply looked at him with sadness.
“Look in the mirror. You’ll see nothing. And when you see nothing it means your nothing,” said Stick. “You don’t have a reflection, do you Sy, if that is really your name?”
She smiled sadly and looked at him. “It’s not a question whether I have a reflection or not,” she answered. “It’s am I a reflection?”
Stick was silent. He looked at her with his unemotional eyes. “So what you mean is, you’re not nothing.”
“Yes. I am not nothing.”
“So, what are you?”
“I am a reflection of nothing.”
Turbulence overtook the entire room and the mirrors began to crack. Neither Stick nor Sy moved from their places. Pieces of the mirrors fell from the walls and with each a spark of light twinkled. Soon thousands of sparks were seen until it blinded or confused the eyes bringing a soul into the world between dreaming and reality.
Villa was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Stick and Sy found themselves in a room similar to that of the best room in The Glass Inn. A young girl who looked like Sy was sitting on the bed playing with a doll. She was beautiful but Stick felt that there was something wrong or rather there was nothing there. The beautiful girl seemed like an illusion, created by a trick of light, like she wasn’t even there.
“’That’ person,” said Sy. “I am the reflection of ‘that’ person.”
Stick looked at the child closely, a mirror was beside her. “But she doesn’t exist, does she?” he asked.
“No. She is nothing. Everyone is nothing. Even you, Sir Stick,” said Sy. “You see a person can climb a mountain and reach the top but then he would have nowhere to go but down. And when he dies he would be nothing and his accomplishments nothing more than echoes in the summit. The fairest of all may be beautiful and be renowned even after her death and yet she will cease to be fairest and become nothing. And the fact remains that her beauty is nothing more but a reflection of her, a reflection of nothing. No matter what we do, it is all nothing.”
Stick watched Sy lowered her head as a tear fell from her eyes. The tear dropped on the floor and seemed to cause ripples. Everything became hazy but the two remained once more frozen where they stand.
A voice was heard amidst this state, a voice that declared, “We are all reflections of nothing.”
Stick looked around him. He was in the middle of a barren land. A few steps in the direction of the East revealed to him an old hand-held mirror, the one on the girl’s bed. He picked it up and looked into it. Behold, he saw inside the mirror the town of
Villa and Sy was there as well. As if sensing his presence she turned and smiled at him.
“The moment you stop looking at the mirror will be the moment when Villa will once again vanish. For we are after all reflections, and we cannot be reflected without something in front of the mirror,” she said. Then she smiled at him.
He raised the mirror above his head and with one powerful move he shattered it into a million pieces. He smiled as he said, “But I am not a reflection of nothing…”
“…I am one of the children of the night.” He transformed once more into a wolf and he ran straight into the woods once more. He would find her. He would find the flower…soon.
The man who was supposedly the mayor looked at the direction where Stick was headed. And losing the town’s accent, he said, “He’s picked the right road this time. I wonder just how lucky can this wolf get.” He chuckled and turned away. Then he flapped his owl wings and set out for
Athens where Athena was waiting for him for news of the travels of the other children of the night.
REFLECTIONS OF NOTHING
A caress brings warmth
To stone-cold corpses
But can never return the spirit
Back into frames of time
A memory may spark
A light to dimmed minds
And yet it is fated to once more
Be forgotten in the closet
In the end of all
If we allowed to call it
Only words can endure so
Death is becometh
And yet it is
As empty and shallow
As air enclosed inside a dome
It circles but it is meaningless
Perhaps only a glass
A mirror only could
Surpass time and emotions of old
And yet shatters to more than one
