Solos

Which side of the mirror was which? They said it in taunting, eager tones, sharp-toothed smiles leading him to one clear answer: it doesn’t matter. Join the dance, stop worrying about such things. Life isn’t worth living if you waste it over such tiny concerns. Drop the looking glass, love, it never helped anyone. Drink the wine or drink the glass; either one will kill your worries.

He’s tempted, sometimes.

But it matters. It matters to him. They can counter all his arguments in that kind, demeaning way, like they’re speaking to a hatchling, chiding his protests until the words sound so silly and stupid to his own ears, but he knows. He knows this isn’t right.

He knows things can be- he doesn’t even know. Different. And different meant they might be better. He knows it with a deep, gnawing certainty.

They gave him a name, and he left it behind. Too much power for someone to have over you, letting them name you. He picked Solos instead, more a practical choice than anything. Harder to twist, the same way back and forth. Harder to lose if it couldn’t be reversed.

He would do what his ancestors had done. He would cross the mirror. He would go home.

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Part 2 by Helix

She was but a reminder of this world’s incessant noise. Whenever he found a moment to rest, to be at ease in hard-earned silence, he could feel her eyes upon him. A reflection so blase, so similar to the carefree smiles and abandon of this world’s inhabitants. Yet, only watching, silently waiting, with all the invasiveness but none of the physical closeness. All he desired was stability, a time to be idle, a familiar cornerstone to depend on.

This world melts and twists by the minute, a roiling pot of possibilities. He cannot trust his sense of normalcy and must depend on others to parse a world that refused to stay put. For a few days he could leap as high as the tops of trees; for the a few hours his limbs became lead. Food would be sweet on his tongue and turn into grit the next. Yet the inhabitants ride it while he drowns.

Every day that his mind roils, his desire for stability grows. A word whose definition is the opposite of his reality. An ideal he holds as being true. An ideal that seems far-fetched to this world’s inhabitants, his words only inspiring crystalline laughter and clucking jabs. And she watches, silent, judging his failures as his mind refuses to accept this as reality.

She is omnipresent, her eyes always in some hidden corner, hungry and unfathomable. So much like theirs. But he is unable to find solitude, unable to have reprieve from this world. And he gives in. Seeks to understand. Tries to find stability in chaos.

And succeeds.

They adore him now, proffering him gifts, awed by how easily this world bends to his whims. They merely float in the sea of absurdity he rides. Desire tickles the back of his mind, sloshing his thoughts like a boat upon waves. Patterns emerge from the chaos and serve as the wind for his sails. Control, freedom, all he ever desired and more.

Emotion, emotion, driving reality. The mind the greatest power of them all. The world grows grey and heavy as he weeps, bright and light upon his joy. And once that thread is caught he pulls, coaxes reality with his will. The eyes on him bother him none, simply another witness to his might. Power, plain and simple, the only way he can hope to gain stability within this maelstrom.

And his effort makes that one moment of normalcy for hours of work all that sweeter.

His days pass as blurs, the whimsy suffusing him, the denizens delighted to crown him. King-Queen, Queen-King, Jack of all skills. His titles are as fluid as wine, and he pours them out daily. For all their titles, their praises, their gifts, his true name will never be on their tongues. He knows their names, and with that can twist them like words; they shall never have that power over him.

They ask him to transform them, to fling them into the stars, to call down rain as sweet as nectar, to feast on fish bones and rotten stew. And it begins to bore him. And lowering himself to their position lost its charm. Boredom, after how many years, grips him in this world of surrealism and quixotic fantasy.

And he thinks of her eyes, her curiosity, and wonders if she felt like this too.

His person-al mirror speaks words he deigns not to hear as he stares into them, the surface reflecting all but his form. A quirk since his young years, a novelty he cared little for. Yet, the mirror image distorts today, turning silvery save for a single, plain broach.

His instincts bid him to grasp it, that the smooth surface wasn’t what he expected. And he knew now it was right, that his fingers could grasp, that he could pull something into this world, descend to a new level of absurdity.

And, strangely, he adored it.

The gem was unremarkable, the metal sleek and not overwrought. It carried none of the flair or inherent distortion this world pinned upon all. It was a tiny symbol of normalcy, a feeling he long since abandoned.

And once again, he felt her eyes upon him, something he could face with more indifference than before. His eyes go from her older, haggard gaze to the broach. The next step is simple: to return what was lost.

It is a simple affair, a lovely cool breeze during warm sun. And in the next moment she is gone and amusement plays a fanfare throughout his court.

He welcomes this new conundrum, a new rule for him to toy. The mirror delivered him a gift: how did it happen, why had she appeared after so long, and could they do it again?

He ponders this while the sun and moon fight, shadows growing long, short, slanted, and blue. She returns before he finishes chewing on his questions, letting the slide onto the floor. Her frenzy amuses him, almost giving him a pang of jealousy. Oh, his wistful, confused origins… how he sometimes wished to return.

Her hand returns first, smacking paper against the barrier. He blinks, tilts his head, the mirror creaking as spiderweb cracks bloom.

The break is silent, the pieces fall as drops of dew. They stain his rugs, become suspended in the air.

And a letter floats to his claws.