The Mirror Room
In my house, there is a mirror. It hangs on the wall above a disused fireplace in a room that is, more often than not, empty. It is only just broader than a sheet of paper, and only twice the width. The borders of the glass are curiously angled - purely for design purposes, I'd suspect, but they create the ideal conditions for the refraction of light striking its surface.
Rarely does it reflect faces, though when I do venture into its unfamiliar realm, my reflection seems enchanting. I wonder if the vacant glass misses the company, and so, when it senses a shift in the light, it can't help but pour all of its inanimate joy into the singular face staring into it, so that it might come back and stare for longer.
It was an early morning, one where the dawn is heavy and your family sleeps in longer than usual. I came down early and walked past the room with the mirror. As usual, I walked past it with the intent of moving toward the more lively side of the house - perhaps for breakfast, I hadn't decided.
As I passed the door, I noticed colours stealing out from beneath it. Curious, and a little bewitched, I tapped the door open to find the room lit up in one of the most breath-taking displays of light my eyes had ever witnessed. An early ray of sun had struck the mirror and was fractured all over the room. The walls were covered with fluid colours - I remember the vibrancy and texture against the white paint that made the room unrecognisable.
The whole display seemed like a gesture of hope - a parade that no one would ever see, a creation for the pleasure of the creator alone. I stumbled onto something beautiful that day and swore to never forget the importance of things made purely for the joy of their maker, and not another soul.
After my initial amazement, there came the urge to touch the rainbows. Practically, I knew there wasn't any way to feel the spectrum of light, but that didn't prevent me from trying. The patterns of the waves slid readily onto my skin, and I couldn't help the laugh that escaped my throat. Who was I to wake up just as the Sun, from ninety-three million miles away, shone perfectly onto this nondescript mirror, situated in this deserted room?
It felt divine, as though I was chosen to be a witness.
I am writing this from the same room, every now and then glancing up at my magical mirror. I haven't seen a display quite to that degree since, but every other morning or so, I find a fearless rainbow stretching across one of the walls. It is for that reason that I spend as much time in this room as I can. If no one else will, then I will give the mirror some joy to reflect.