A floor made of mirrors that reflected the world above them. I loved that concept, loved the way it played with perceptions of reality and the rules of life. Loved how it confused the hell out of so many people.
Along with my love for the mirrors came staggering disappointment, and heartbreak, for the lost hearts and souls of life. The ones who no longer dreamed, or imagined, or created. The ones who never questioned anything.
How could they look at that floor, and see the mirror world in it, and not wonder, not ask, “Which world is real, the one I’m in, looking down at the floor, or the world in the floor, where I’m looking back at myself?”
The chair I was seated in was a wood, with a metal framework. Delilah was seated in the chair next to me. She’d asked to spend time together. “I want your company today. I want to be around you. To be with you. To be able to talk with you. Laugh, smile, walk, eat lunch, eat dinner, with you.”
“What are you thinking, Samuel?” I never understood why she used my full name, and not Sam, like everyone else. I felt her fingers, and the palm of her hand touch my shoulder, and I wondered if I could talk at all. “You can talk with me, you know. Take your time.”
The image of myself in the floor showed my struggle, my inability to focus. I’d almost swear my image blurred, became less defined. “Which one is real?”
Delilah’s eyes tracked mine, they stared into the floor, saw me, saw her, saw the chairs. “We are, of course.”
“Are we? Or are we really on the other side of the mirrors, watching ourselves?”
She moved her hand from my shoulder, let her fingers touch my cheek, “Which of you feels my touch? Which of you hears my voice?”
I wondered if the me in the mirror felt her fingers on his cheek, or if he was a simple reflection of light. Or, perhaps, if he was wondering the same thing, if the me staring back at me felt her fingers, as he did?
“It’s why I want to spend time with you, Samuel.” She looked into the eyes of the me in the mirrors on the floor, “Because. You can still dream. You can imagine things. You can create things.” Her hand moved again, it started on my shoulder, and calmly, deliberately, ever so gently, moved down my arm, to my hand, where her fingers interlaced with mine.
For some reason my hand responded, and I found I was holding her hand, as she was holding mine. The mirrors showed the same.
“You don’t see the world as black and white. As predefined.” I wondered if I could ever forget her smile, or the sound of her words.
“Too many people.” I paused, “They don’t ask questions.” I looked into her eyes in the mirrors below us. The her in the mirror looked back into mine. “Almost like they’re afraid to ask questions.”
“They are.” Was it the Delilah holding my hand, or the Delilah in the mirror who answered me? “Because. It makes life complicated. Difficult. Not simple.” Her other hand reached across and she turned my head so I faced her, above the mirrors.
“Delilah.” Something inside me felt good, happy. Perhaps that’s what dancing was. When something inside my soul moved, because it felt like it. “I never told you how I can get lost in your eyes.”
I forgot about the mirrors, as she smiled, “I know, Samuel. I have always known.”
It’s week 106 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed.