Day Eleven: Prepared (4th of August)

It was possible, he would assure her, nothing was impossible.

Yet she wasn’t certain anymore, not really.

Dianne stared at her reflection. Honey colored eyes stared right back, even appearing to smirk at her.

She let out a shaky laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t think I can do this,” she giggled to herself, pushing her bangs out of her eyes.

“I'm sure you can.”

Dianne stared at her reflection, who was inspecting her nails critically. “Really, though, ever heard of a nail file? Your nail beds are a disgrace.”

Dianne sighed, glancing left and right. Not that she needed to, but it was better to be safe than sorry. You see, a very angry man was on his way to her house. And this very angry man was going to kill her.

Her father told her to be brave, and put the fear behind her, yet she couldn’t bring herself to simply abandon the world she lived in, no matter how hard she despised. It was more of a grudging respect, but Dianne didn’t feel much like arguing with herself.

Her reflection tapped the glass impatiently, pointing at her watch. “He’s coming in about three minutes, Danny, better hurry,” she said irritably.

“I’ve always hated that nickname,” Dianne muttered, grabbing a pair of ratty suitcases. Her reflection shrugged. “I think it’s kind of cute, to be honest,” she said, extending her hand. The surface of the mirror rippled, and an arm reached out, picking up the suitcases gingerly. Dianne’s reflection twisted her face into what could only be described as distaste. “I swear if these things have termites I’m going to bite your ear off.”

Dianne rolled her eyes. “They were my- our dad’s,” she stated, putting on the amulet her dad gave her. 

Her reflection tugged at her own amulet in response. “Great. Now come on, I think I hear something.” 

Dianne snorted, glancing at her front door. “I live on the twenty third floor of a security tight apartment building, I don’t think he’s coming until another ten minutes.”

But her estimation was wrong (miserably so) because just then Dianne heard a loud crash sounding from across the hallway. She whipped her head at the door, her eyes unusually wide, her mouth slightly parted. Dianne’s reflection banged her hand on the mirror’s exterior. “Hurry! Stop being an idiot and come on in already!”

But Dianne didn’t hear her. The door exploded, and the hinges flew straight towards the mirror, scratching its surface slightly. Dianne watched, horrified, as the crack expanded, stretching across the entire veneer, touching the very edges of the mirror. The glass shattered, showering the ground with miniscule crystals.

“Shit,” mumbled Dianne, staring at the large cut marking her palm. This was going to scar, she just knew it.

“Dianne! I’m in the bathroom! Get your silly ass over here before you’re dead!”

Dianne gulped audibly, scratching her nose. This was not supposed to happen. Her dad wasn’t supposed to die out on her. He should have never put her reflection in charge. She didn’t even know why they were after her. She did nothing wrong. She stole nothing, she didn’t even own anything special to begin with.

But then it dawned on her. Of course, she thought, slapping her forehead.

The amulet.

They wanted the amulet. Of course they wanted the amulet. Who wouldn’t want a gateway to a parallel world? A place completely free of mistakes and harm and pollution? A place uncorrupt and clean and just?

A new beginning, thought Dianne, chewing her lip.

She could start all over again. She didn’t have to be quiet and awkward. She could follow in her reflection’s footsteps. She could be well known and loved and just a little bit insane and everyone wouldn’t even think twice about it. No one in this world would remember who she was anyway, so she would be doing the earth a favor; one less mouth to feed.

There was also the prospect of her father being alive in the other world, and this was a risk she was willing to take. Dianne nodded, determination washing over her.

She sprinted towards the bathroom, and slammed the door wide open. Her reflection motioned her to quicken her pace.

“Watch out!” she shrieked.

“Huh?”

Dianne was suddenly pushed to the ground, her face smushed against the cold tile of her bathroom floor. She grimaced. When was the last time she mopped the floor?

But no time to think about that. Dianne struggled to get her hands free, but it was useless, because a very ape like man rested his figure on top of her fragile back.

“Gerroffme!” she yelled, or attempted to yell (her face was smushed, remember?). The man grunted, and Dianne assumed this was supposed to be laughter. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he growled. He sounded Australian. It was always the Australians that chased her. “Not unless you hand me that pretty necklace of yours,” he continued, crushing her with his weight.

“Am-u-let,” corrected Dianne, squeezing her hands out of the man’s bulky posterior. The man quickly planted his foot on her out stretched hand, and Dianne screeched in pain, clenching her teeth to prevent herself from tearing. “Nice try, sweet pea. Really cute. Now hand it over before things get ugly.”

This was bad. This was very bad. Dianne felt like blacking out any second now, and her vision was rapidly growing foggy and vague. She attempted to kick the brute with her free leg, but he swiftly caught her ankle, snapping it as if he were unscrewing a bottle of beer. Dianne wailed in torment, ignoring the tears rolling across her face. She tasted the salt of it and tried to take deep breaths, ignoring the pain that throbbed dully. She tried to ease herself out of his heavy grasp, but to no avail.

Then out of nowhere, the man gave a startled grunt, and landed on the floor with a dull thud. Dianne saw a dagger sticking out of his back, its blade slick with blood.

She felt a person grabbing her hand, pulling her towards the mirror.

“Are you ready now?” her reflection asked, sounding breathless.

Dianne nodded numbly and clutched her broken ankle.

Now she was ready. 


- left-foot-fowl