Crysolis
Feb 9, 2023 21:58:52 GMT -5
Post by Radrook Admin on Feb 9, 2023 21:58:52 GMT -5
Crysolis
Helen Saragossa, the ninety-five-year-old former famous ballerina, was huddling alone in the dark main bedroom of her house. Inclement weather had taken out the town’s electric grid, and the snow-covered street was awash in darkness. All was silent except for the occasional howling of the wind which was whipping up swirls of snow and ice, and making visibility difficult. From her bedroom window, she could see the snow-covered meadow awash in soft glow of a barely-visible full moon. Beyond the tree line, a frozen lake reflected the occasional headlight of a slowly-passing car.
There were also occasional wolf-howls in the dark in the nearby woods. Wolves were rarely seen in the the town itself, but during inclement weather, they sometimes sought refuge under the town’s houses, and it worried her. True, she had a shotgun, but she had never fired it. Suppose she missed? The thought of the consequences sent a shiver of fear through her 95-year-old decrepit body, and she draped herself more tightly in her woolen garments.
For brief moment, she thought of calling the sheriff's office, but the phone lines were down. Then in desperation, she considered walking there. After all, it was only five blocks away. She had covered that distance even in her advanced age. But in this weather, she feared not getting four blocks without collapsing from exhaustion, and who would even notice?
No, she would have to remain where she was. Yes, it was going to be a very long, lonely, and frightful night! If only she had bought some candles! Or at least a lantern of some sort. If only she had purchased a flashlight. But she had been negligent, and was now paying the price for it. There was suddenly lightning, and she caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror.
It was the deformed reflection of a stranger whom she had never accepted as her true self, and never would. Her true self? Her true self would forever be that young, outgoing, beautiful ballerina of the thick, wavy, blond hair, and agile lithe limbs, who always mesmerized thousands with her effortless dancing, and who had earned prestigious accolades for her technically-flawless performances.
No, she was definitely not that pitiful, living scarecrow of an old haggard woman whom she had just seen in the mirror. The old woman who found it hard to climb a few steps of stairs, and whose arthritis was a constant reminder that death approached ever nearer, like a stalking predatory feline, which was almost upon her. Now, finally, she could no longer deny the closeness of that fearful day when the ravenous beast would finally pounce.
Yet, deep inside, the once-beautiful youthful, ballerina could not avoid seeing herself eternally young, forever charming, and that the old apparition in the reflection was nothing more than a cruel illusion that would soon fade and would once again display magnificent splendor of her youth.
Once more she would be the center of social attention. Once again she would inspire the intense looks of virile interest as she passed by the young men who all secretly wished that she would at least deign to cast an interested glance or a cursory smile of recognition their way.
She smiled as she recalled the large expensive glittering chandeliers of the grand dance hall with its black highly-polished marbled floor, and its magnificent central white marbled staircase leading to the theater upper seats and reserved balconies. Seats and balconies from where thunderous applause would arise as she took bows. It was all but a very distant memory now, a grand memory never to be relinquished, as she would never relinquish her youth.
A car-horn briefly honked outside, breaking her spell of reminiscence, and unmercifully wrenching her back to cruel reality. Suddenly, seeing herself once more as she truly was, she angrily picked up a book and hurled it at the mirror and its accursed and cruel reminder. It was a big, heavy, hardbound book, and the impact toppled the mirror onto the wooden floor with a resounding thud.
Then all was silent once more, except for her bitter weeping as she had often wept many times before, still hearing the occasional, slow sloshing of car wheels through the deep snow on the narrow street that bordered her house. Still hearing in the nearer distance, a lone wolf ululate its melancholy song towards the proud and indifferent moon.
Then there was a loud slamming open of the door downstairs followed by loud footsteps ascending the narrow stairs. There were also deep, whispering male voices slowly approaching.
Momentarily she panicked. Burglars had gained entry thinking that the dark house was abandoned. She needed to get to her shot-gun. But it was stored downstairs and wasn’t even loaded. How could she forget? How could she have been so careless? But she had to try. But before she could, her bedroom door opened and through her semi-closed tearful eyelids, she saw a flash of light.
Slowly she opened her eyes fearful of what she would see. She gasped in surprise. Totally gone was the darkness. Everything was a pleasant white light, and she herself seemed aglow.
"Where am I?" she asked.
“Welcome home!" a soft voice responded.
Then suddenly, a full-length mirror framed in jewels of diverse colors coalesced near her, and she stood before it. It couldn't be! Before her stood the reflection of the exuberantly beautiful young woman that she had been 70 years before in the full bloom of youth
“Behold! I make all things new!" the gentle voice announced.
Then family and long-lost friends appeared. Not as she once had known them at the time, but all young and vibrantly alive, and Helen finally realized, that she had just passed away, and had been resurrected to heaven.