Mirrored

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. A voice-less world, shared by nothing but solitude. A place of contemplation, a place to reflect. What better agony than the doubt of my place. All alone, voice unheard, nobody watching, existence uncertain. Tell me, am I alive because you can hear me scream?

Immobile and unheard, the deafness of this chamber seemed ethereally inhuman. Fabricated by something else, melting into somet-

In a field of amber grass, ungroomed and dense, stood with aged grace a large brick house. Through a red-framed window, facing lake side, sat a girl with long apricot hair, with book in hand. She sat delicately on the waxed oak floor of the dim attic, turning the brittle pages with care and intention, slumped over the novel with her hair pooled around her. Her heavy flaming locks shadowed her face, a brilliant toothy smile barely shining through the darkness.

She saw, at the edge of the field's recesses, far from the house, at the border between a lake shore, and the grasses warmth, a tall man, fared skin and thin, Father. She looked out, face keen with youth, into the reflection of the old, framed window, smile rich, eyes empty. Truly empty. Flesh smooth over sockets, story-less and grey.

Father, in the distant shore, knelt, with the red of the setting sun bright on his tight pale skin. He looked at the scarlet water, and in the glow of the lake, he saw no face. Smooth clay for skin, like flesh over a broken bone. He took a sigh, a passionless breath, and began to walk towards the large brick house. He took a beaten path up the slant of the meadow, as hands of umbral night began to claw at the edges of the field's valley. With rose flushed cheeks, and lithe limbs, he climbed the slant with slumped shoulders and spry fervor.

The flattened grass path grew sparse and wide, with rubble of pebble and white earth sowing the man-made trails of grass, and walkways of stone around the house. Father’s feet thumped up the ancient oak stairs of the red-bricked, white-pillared back entrance of his ancestral home. A sigh, and then;

“Ana, I’m home”

“Papa!” yelled the daughter, as quick thuds on the oak floor descended the staircase and ran to jump onto father.

“How was your trip to the capital Papa?” with heavy breath in voice.

“It was-” A long pause.

“It was, without a doubt, eye opening. It seems things are getting better. I reckon that in no time at all you’ll have your eyes back, and me my face” his voice warm, face unmoved.

“You must take me with you some time Papa”

“Yes, of course my Dear, I promise to take you in the coming weeks. It’s just it’s been so busy I haven’t had the time, but I promise, soon. First, let’s eat.” the Father’s voice tense and uneasy.

He slowly let her down onto the floor. The rich aroma of warm stew filled the chill dusk air, rich with notes of thyme and rosemary. The father’s head tilted up, savoring the smells for as long as possible.

“Mama is readying the table, and Brother finishing the stew, it should be done very soon”

“Excellent Darling, I’m starved. But first I must speak to your Mother, I have news to share with her” trepidation honeying his careful words.

“Ok Papa” she exclaimed, as the loud clack of his dress shoes on the varnished oak flooring grew dimer, until she was left alone in the dry back entrance of the Pelletier Estate. She thought, twirling fingers through thick strands of apricot hair, what news could he possibly have to tell Mother but not her? Curiosity creeping in the recesses of her mind, a shadow of a doubt flickering over Ana’s face; there had to be more. But a shrill ringing echoed throughout the house, with the clarity of a bird's song;

“Supper, Ana, Papa, Mama!” boomed the brother's voice. Ana paced to the dining room, walking through the massive ballroom hall, left into the two-story library, and finally into the grand windowed dining room. The space was in the west wing of the house, adorned with colored glass panes across three of the walls, painting the room a violent scarlet as the sun set.

“Where are Mama and Papa?” questioned Ana, still curious with doubt. The table was set, and all the food was ready to be eaten with silver cutlery, on silk tablecloths. The brother sat on the opposite side of Ana’s seat, face pointed to Ana.

“I believe they're upstairs; I heard them talking in their bedroom.” ushered the brother with finger pointing up.

“I’ll go get them! I’ll be quick” and Ana was off into the dark. Her feet paced her through the unlit carpet of the main entrance, into the large twin staircase leading up into their sleeping quarters. She climbed slowly up the oak fenced staircase, soft footed and breathless. She neared the second floor and saw a streak of yellow light painted across the floor, seeping from a door slightly ajar. She peered into the crack of the door, and saw her Father’s hands in motion, exclaiming something she couldn’t hear. She walked slowly through the stiff air of the Estate, to the edge of the door frame. She pressed her ear, and listened;

“It’s bad” her father’s tone was grave. Ana could barely hear them through the thick of the wall.

“We’ve landed” the father paused; the air held tight.

“What? That doesn’t make any sense. I mean... have at least 100 years lef-” the mother's nervous stammer was cut off by the father.

“I know, it doesn’t add up. But that’s the message I received from the Shipmaster. He demanded we...; it’s getting bad in here and....” the Father composed himself.

“What do you mean ‘bad in here’, I can’t image it’s any worse than what’s happening out there if we’ve landed” exclaimed the Mother.

“I saw it firsthand; the capital, all the builders were- destroyed. Matter overlapped, suspended in... It’s like ... simulating system is breaking down. It was... when the rendering engine stopped loading parts of our face, but... I mean how many resources... to this rehabilitation program?” The father looked around nervously, flesh tight around the ball of his head, wrinkling and writhing with every glance into empty air.

“… then what are we supposed to do? I mean do you really expect us to release these people back on board without... time for their crimes?” in raised voice, the mother began to pace around the amber lit room. She stopped in front of the bed, knelt, and with a scratching of wood on wood, she had in hand a heavy oak chest. The hinges of the chest were rusted and deeply brown, they groaned in agony as the lid was lifted. Inside, Ana’s face glued to the wall, she pressed harder; the jingle of glass, and the ruffle of old paper, and then, the rusted agony of the closing lid again.

“Dan, the other Keepers must be thinking the same thing, I mean, we must all be wondering what’s going to happen. Let’s just think it over” the mother’s breath eased. She closed the lid and put it back in its place.

“You’re right Love. We don’t have much time, but it’ll be good to try and keep some mental clarity. At the very least we have landed. Which means we’ll be off this damn thing in no time. For now, let's just eat with our subjects.” The Father let out a slight sign, as the mother pushed the door wide, giving way to an awful creek, like the door hinges cried to be oiled. Ana slipped downstairs through this window of deafness, and in a breathless panic, wondered who the criminals were. She tried to maintain an act of ignorance as she approached the dining room, food now lukewarm and still. Her parents followed her shortly after, never having noticed a spy in the dark. Once they were all rightly seated, the brother exclaimed;

“What took you guys so long? I mean the foods been sitting here for at least 10 minutes uncovered. I’ve been waiting so long.”

“You guys? Mother and I were just talking upstairs, what about you Ana?” The father turned to look at Ana seated.

“Oh, I was on my way to get you guys, but I uh-” The parents looked at each other”

“I was going to get you, but I heard a knock at the front door” she stammered and stuttered.

“And what was it darling?” asked the mother kindly. There was a pause, tense as a bow string.

“A big dragon, with red scales and dagger teeth.” she roared out to her audience. They all laughed humbly. Childish innocence flooded the room, and the fear of eavesdropping melted away in amused laughter. They would have heard her coming up the stairs. With certainty, they deluded themselves with her innocence. Dinner was eaten in silence, warmly lit by the sparks of light at the tips of the chandelier’s wooden arms, with only spoken commands to pass the salt and sour groans of an old home to ease the absence of voice.

When supper was finished, they got up, set their plates aside, and walked away, one by one. Father walked to the living room with the ache of a working man, mother followed, and brother to his room, in silence, Ana was left alone in the dining room.

The living room was a warm room, lamp-lit and filled with bookshelves ornately carved. Pressed against one of the walls, were stiff rosewood couches, cushioned with an ocean blue. Father sat at one end of the couch, resting himself deep within the softness of the cushions. Mother had entered the room with yarn in hand, and crochet hooks in the other. She paused, in front of Father, and dropped her things. She tried to move, veins bulged, but she was held in place by forces unearthly. Her mouth opened, the start of a sentence rolled at the back of her throat, and then she stopped. Her body motionless, tilting from side to side.

“Isabelle?” Father asked concerned. He got up and moved towards her. The mother’s mouth agape in tortured silence. Father got up and looked into her vacant eyes.

“Why are they taking you now?” he thought out loud. Her body began to melt, into smooth glass, clear as air. Tears trickled down her face. She closed her eyes, hoping it would end.

It stopped. Quietness grew like unknown tumors. She opened her eyes to look around her, in still black. A void, her body suspended, unable to shift. Filled with a sound of agony, screams unheard except in Limbo.

“Shipmaster?”

“Isabelle, we’ve landed”