What to do When Life Allows You to Glance Into the Looking Glass

I want to tell a story, but I don’t know where to begin. My college literary professors always said that my stories were too large, that I needed to learn to condense my thought so that the right expressions could be used. Perhaps this is why I am a terrible poker player. I don’t have a slight of hand or the ability to keep my thoughts to myself.

This is the story of one girl’s perspective on glancing into the looking glass and discovering a sinister future.

She sat in her favorite chair looking out of the window at her favorite view. The university’s bell tolled in the distance and all she could think about was the night before. A pointless argument that led to an unexpected revelation.

She had unwittingly glanced into her future and she did not like what she had seen. It had nothing to do with work or love, happiness or anger, but it had everything to do with her inner self. She had seen an ugliness that lay inside of her. It was a small kernel that if left to grow would turn into a withering weed; one of those choking vines that wraps around a flowering tree, promising false friendship, while slowly choking it to death.

In a moment of unexpected clarity, life had given her a chance to change her fate. And as she sat in her favorite chair, looking out of the window at her favorite view, she found herself on the precipice of change.

Most people say that you can’t change. It was a thought that kept circulating through her mind. But, then again most people aren’t given a chance to glance through life’s looking glass. These contrary opinions kept running through her head.

Her tea slowly grew cold. Her favorite view slowly changed as dusk settled over the city. The day had gone by, but the moment hadn’t passed. She got out of her chair and walked out of the room. She didn’t look back. She didn’t know where she was going. All she had was a memory of a revelation and it was all of the perspective that she needed to begin.

Thoughts From The Author
When you stare into a river, you are often tricked into thinking that you are looking at the same image more than once. The water appears to flow in the same pattern, and you swear that patch of moss has always been gently trailing in the current. But the truth is, the river is never the same.

This should not be some sort of “aha” moment. Rather, it is a simple truth that comes from watching one too many rivers. And yet, the next time you find yourself staring aimlessly into the water, trying to condense a million thoughts into one meaningful expression, you might find yourself thinking that you have seen this exact image before.

Like the river, perspective is fleeting. It comes and goes, and it tricks you into thinking that you’ve seen it at another moment, in a different place. Like a piece of river moss, it floats in front of you, taunting you with the next moment of understanding, while remaining effectively out of reach.

The story of the young women is purposefully void of many details. In a series of short stories I want to explore what happens in the face of defining moments. The moments when you feel as if you have finally gained an ever elusive, but always important, perspective.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.