Holloween is a time of reflection on death and the donning of costumes to scare away the evil that lurks beneath the cover of our perceived reality. It is not the devil's birthday since he was never born. It is the remembrance of the souls of death, good and bad. We remember them and try to avoid their fate though we all become like them in the end. This is a tale of Janan, on his day of reflection.
Play The Music
Color comes only with understanding, perspective. Information without perspective is only gray.
Janan stands alone in his father’s room transfixed by the mirror, his reflection staring back at him, mimicking him--he does not see himself. So reflective are his thoughts, the world folds into another dimension. The image of him staring steely into his eyes looks pensive. Before him, it stands mimicking his apathy. His bluish-gray eyes, cold, unemotional, an onlooker will not discover anything is the matter with him, but there is.
Far away thoughts crowd his mind as he analyzes the news he received for comprehension enabling life to continue from that moment. Understanding refuses to reveal itself. Comprehension fails to rise from the murky gray of information. Color comes only with understanding, perspective. Information without perspective is only gray. There is no color in Janan’s thoughts.
A wheel spins as if the software of the mind is gathering bytes to move on with program executions. Locked eyes! Reflection locked with Janan; Janan locked with reflection--face..? placid.
Blinking eyes! The reflection blinks! Software of the mind still in spinning mode, Janan does not notice that Reflection blinks when his eyes stare straight ahead!
Gray eyes turn blue and Reflection moves his left arm, Janan’s right, towards the mirror slowly, shakily reaching toward the man whose right arm does not move!
The wheel of software works in Janan’s thoughts preventing him from noticing the event taking place before his vacant eyes!
Reflection moves as Janan becomes stiff, a waxy film forming in a haze beginning at his right arm, fabricated in appearance now. Reflection pushes from his side of the mirror which bulges outward causing a fracturing sound of glass cracking under the immense pressure without giving way.
A hand burst through the mirror with the deep-toned sound of large sheets of ice breaking on a frozen lake, though no mirror fragments fall to the floor. Janan's body hazes over completely, appearing no more than a large doll with sunburnt blond hair, a mannequin with gray eyes.
Out climbs a replica of Janan, morose and tense. Every muscle in his body taut as if each movement it made increased its anger. Blues eyes wild with fierce determination, Replica steps around the mannequin and toward the door of the room.
Rage and Wrath
Exiting the room, Replica crushes the knob of the door splitting it at the hinges as he walks the hall to the family room where everyone awaits. Hands formed in fists, Replica walks toward a portrait of Janan’s father. Regarding it for a moment as if with endearment, he plunges both fists into it, crushing the portrait and the wall behind it.
Screaming from the family room in lieu of this commotion snatches Replica around. Eyes blazing a scorching blue, he runs full speed toward Janan’s brother full of wrath. Yelps and sighs abound at the appearance of this magnificent spectacle radiating intense negative energy confounding all about it.
“Janan,” the brother astounds, the inflection in his voice dripping with alarmed query. “What is the meaning of…”
Wrath clutches his neck with inhuman grip as his brother burst forth out of life and into the spirit—body flailing in the mad hands of this powerfully imposing double of Janan turned to Rage. Curdling screams and screeches rupture the atmosphere with a chorus of morbidity as Rage rushes toward sisters, cousins, another brother, friends, and finally, mother—ripping and tearing at them until they all stand in spirit before him, as gray as the eyes of the mannequin in the room. Shades of their former selves, they gaze questioningly in unbelief not understanding their new state, while their corporeal vestiges mar the room—deformed, mangled all about.
Gurgling forth out of his chest roars an ungodly sound of anguish and terror blowing the gray spirits away, fog before an unrelenting wind. Rage falls hard to the floor sobbing. No. These are not sobs of sorrow, but crazed tears that nothing or no one is left to rend out its spirit!
Suddenly, Rage groans as the gray once colorless information spinning in Janan’s mind starts to grow into a hue of scarlet anger, purple rain of sorrow, then blue desolation. A wailing whistling hisses through the house as brilliant illumination explodes from the room of the mannequin into hallway and family room.
I’ve been doing the things that you would never do on your own...
Color of Grief
Arms of light pull at Rage, whose strength is so terrible that the arms of light disintegrate with each twist Rage attempts to flee the light. The arms of light do not relent tugging with gentle embraces until Rage again becomes Wrath. Wrath becomes the Replica. The arms of light envelopes Replica guiding it back to the bedroom near the mannequin with gray eyes.
Replica’s fierce eyes no longer burn bright, as he climbs into the mirror, tinseling sounds of ice exposed to warming air tinkle as the mirror envelops him. The arms of light embrace the mannequin as Reflection settles back in place with Janan staring into the mirror. The wheel of software loading finally concludes, and the program of emotion is finished. Janan processed the information into the color of grief. His father passed away.
Staring into his reflection, Janan does not recall how long he has been in that position or why he initially stood in front of the mirror. He is sad about his dad after filtering the bitter feelings of pain, blame, hate, revenge, and resolution. Now he can face the rest of the family after processing this news.
“What have you been doing while I was here in deep thought,” Janan asked his reflection aloud as if his image could tell him about his time-lapse as he meditated before the full-length mirror in his deceased father’s room.
Janan turns to walk away when the mirror squeaks a sound. Turning quickly, he glimpses his father ablaze with brilliant white light standing guard over him!
“I’ve been doing the things that you would never do on your own,” the reflection answers in Janan’s voice—lurching out of the mirror in an explosion of fragments.
© 2019 Rodric Anthony Johnson