The Silver Mirror

Her tresses tickled her forehead as she gazed into the silver hand held mirror. Her mother had told her she could have that silver dressing table set when she died. How she treasured it.

The tarnished covering begged to be clean once again and it really was on her list of things to do. But she had been too busy, as usual. And it simply had not been a priority.

She would have given it back in a moment, though, if only she could feel the loving arms of her sweet mother once more.

It was a fleeting, childlike thought, but the woman wondered what might happen if she rubbed her mirror with silver polish. As she did, she remembered the story of Aladdin and his lamp. She remembered reading how when he rubbed his silver lamp, the genie appeared and Aladdin's wishes were granted.

What would she wish if it were so? Aladdin was granted three. Dare she desire the same? For what would she ask if she was granted three, too?

Crystal tears glimmered in her eyes has she contemplated.

As she held the mirror, she slowly turned it. A vision of what had once been, flashed across the hand held silver piece. Her life, played out, before her as she desperately tried to drop it. Her heart pounded. Her chest felt as if it would burst. Her knuckles, white, clenched the handle of the mirror and stuck like strong glue. She wanted to drop the mirror and run. She wanted to deny the vision; to pretend it wasn't so.

The mirror grew large and murky. The filth that had been her life exuded forth. The bad choices. The stupid words. The thoughtless deeds. It was all there, reflecting a life that was a shambles, a waste, a desecration.

She tried to look away in abject desperation. What was causing the palpitations and the sinking, sickening, churning feeling in the pit of her stomach?

She tried to shake the silver mirror that burned her clenched fist. She wanted to run and hurl the wretched silver mirror. But her grip tightened. A fire raged and now she could not even turn her eyes from the vision. In her desperation she sought for words. Her mind reeled.

Silence.

Two wishes dropped desperately from her dry, cracked lips.

I wish I had not hurt You

I wish I could make it up to You

Just as she was about to buckle and fall, her grip loosened on the silver mirror. Her knuckles relaxed and her once shallow, panicked breath sounds became more rhythmic and quieter.

She looked at the mirror once again. Her eyes, drawn to the vision, widened at the sight.

A faraway cross. She looked closer. A solitary oaken tree with a crossbar. Then a man. His brilliant garment was whiter than what she could ever have imagined. She watched Him kneel to gather the remnants of her life. She watched Him breathe over the seething coals.

"Forgiven," He whispered.

She turned her head from the silver mirror. She was back. She was free.

Once again she looked in the mirror. This time, she saw her reflection as it was. The few creases on her forehead made her smile. The terror that cursed through her veins - obliterated and non-existent.

As she stroked the glass, she thought she saw her mother; smiling, sitting next to Him. Oh how she longed to be with her. She peered closer. She knew, then, what her final wish would be...