I never thought I'd be in a situation like this.
"Happy birthday, Reo!" Shirley shouted. "Come on, make a wish and blow out the candles!"
I was three years old, and this was my first birthday.
Shirley was cheerfully red, and Elton sat across from me, smiling with his usual coolness.
For some reason, people here didn't celebrate birthdays on an annual basis. Some celebrated a birthday every three years, and some every five.
Our kitchen table was square, and the chair I was sitting on was one of my birthday gifts—a tall chair with a small seat and a safety belt to keep me from falling.
On the table were several unwrapped presents: new clothes, a tightly woven pillow, a primitive toothbrush... and a fourth gift.
The whole scene felt eerie.
It was evening, and the only source of light was the birthday cake candles.
The flickering glow made strange, twisted shadows across the couple's faces.
And my eyes once looked at the happy couple and once at the fourth gift.
The one I never wished to see, or maybe I did want it, but was too afraid to face it.
Standing beside the cake was a small mirror, and on its surface, I should've seen my reflection. But, it wasn't me shown on it.
The mirror didn't show Shirley's green hair, which should have been my hair color. It didn't show her bright green eyes, what should have been mine as well.
It showed… the past.
Long black hair.
Blue eyes.
Pale skin.
A young, feminine face—seventeen years old.
Cindy was in the mirror.
And Cindy wasn't smiling.
And I couldn't smile either.
"Is something wrong, darling? Aren't you happy with your gifts?"
No, I was happy. But I was terrified, too.
I was scared that if I blew out the candles and it got dark, I might stop being Reopard, the son of this kind couple, and turn back into Cindy, who always sat alone by the swamp.
I didn't know. And I was too afraid to find out.
"Go on, sweetheart," Shirley said, glancing at Alton, then patting my head. "Make a wish, and it'll come true. We'll make sure it does."
Her hand was warm and soft—a hand no ordinary human could have. Shirley was more than human. Kinder than any heart, gentler than any voice… Shirley was an angel.
And I wanted to believe her.
So I ignored the mirror.
I blew out the candles. The flames wavered twice, then vanished.
Darkness fell.
And someone screamed.
A scream full of sorrow.
A scream of despair.
It was me, right before I lost consciousness.
***
A Bad Dream
***
"You passed out from fear! Hahaha, still a little sissy!" a voice woke me up.
I opened my eyes.
I was staring into a mirror, a human-sized mirror.
The person in the mirror was a seventeen-year-old Cindy. And once I noticed, I avoided looking at the mirror.
I turned around instantly, scanned the room, checking everything.
A familiar room.
A bed beneath the window. A bed made from modern materials. An air conditioner. A smartphone on the bedside table.
"Still a coward, Cindy!" my reflection shouted. "Still scared you're just dreaming, scared the world hasn't changed. Still afraid you're the son of a who*e who doesn't see you."
I was struck and trembling; I always hated that voice, my voice, which would tell me things I always tried to hide.
I rounded my hands into fists, faced the mirror, and shouted: "She does see me!"
And then eyes widened…
Why did I defend her?
My reflection smiled.
"Oh? So you don't th—"
My hand moved before I realized it, and the mirror glass shattered. My blood flew with the shards.
The shards moved so slowly that I could see all of them, and in all shards, I saw and heard my reflection's eerie laugh, echoing in the whole room.
"That memory…" my reflection laughed. "That memory is the reason," my reflection said. "You'll never forget it! It will always haunt you!"
"Get away from me!" I screamed, clutching my hair, tugging it. "Get away from me! Get away from me, you bastard! Get away!"
Tears poured down my face. My screams grew louder.
"I don't want to remember! I don't want to remember! I don't want to remember!"
…
But I remembered.
…
The room disappeared. My body shrank. Darkness enveloped everything.
I hovered like a ghost, watching the ground take shape. I saw our swamp at dusk. I saw my home and the back door step.
Then I remembered!
That cursed night.
***
The Cursed Night
***
"Where do you think you're going, Cindy?" a drunk man slurred, grabbing my pants from behind, stopping me from heading to the stairs.
I don't remember why I was on the ground floor.
Maybe I had just come home from school.
"How old are you now, Cindy?" said the drunk man whose hand still clung to my pants.
"Ten," I muttered.
"Perfect, perfect!" he laughed. "Come do your uncle a little favor."
He said, his other hand pulling out his pe*is.
I didn't understand what he was trying to do.
His hand yanked at my pants, and his penis was stiff.
My eyes widened!
Terror gripped me. My body shivered.
I didn't know why, but I had to escape.
Tears burst from my eyes as I screamed.
And before I even realized it, I had leapt out of my pants and ran barefoot into the kitchen, then outside.
In the fading light of sunset, I tripped on a stone in the swamp's muddy ground and fell. Then, without much thought, I stood, ignored the souring pain in my leg, and continued running.
Maybe an hour later, I disappeared into the swamp, where the darkness swallowed me in.
That night, hours after I'd fled, I came to a realization. At ten years old, I understood.
I had no one.
The darkness of the swamp wasn't scary. It was a safe burrow that others feared to approach.
That night should have been the night of peace, where I would give up everything, and lose hope in everyone.
But,
That night was the cursed night.
The night that, if it had gone differently, I wouldn't be who I am now.
The night that twisted my emotions, broke my beliefs, and shattered everything.
Because after I had thought I had reached complete peace with myself. After I believed no one cared about me. That everyone was against me. That love didn't exist in this world.
In that cursed night, I should have found my inner peace…
but…
I heard footsteps.
And the crying voice of a woman.
A woman I knew…
Cindy!" she screamed. "Where are you, Cindy?!"
She was crying. Her voice was trembling!.
She was alone—just one woman in a pitch-black swamp.
I didn't respond.
I stayed silent.
I had just found peace. I didn't want to lose it.
But then, she came close.
Only one tree between us.
She fell to her knees.
And broke down sobbing.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" The woman cried. "I'm sorry, I'm a terrible mother! I'm sorry I can't protect you." The woman cried. " I'm sorry, Cindy, I'm sorry."
My eyes widened…
I was struck, but I said nothing.
And my mother, after minutes of hopeless cries, turned and left, broken, with a fainting voice.
I stayed behind, unable to process what had just happened; something inside me broke.
That inner peace I had just obtained was shattered beyond repair.
The Peace I had just built on the belief that I had no one in this world, that woman had just shattered it with her cries.
That cursed night ended at that moment…
.. .. ..
Or maybe. Maybe it never truly ended.
Because something else happened.
Something strange.
Something buried deep within my memories…
Something I still can't recall.
A voice called… from the darkness of that swamp… A voice, I couldn't recall.
***
Foolish thoughts!
***
"I'm here. Cry as much as you want. I'm with you." A voice warmed my heart.
When I opened my eyes, it was morning.
I was in Shirley's bed. Sunlight filtered through a patched brown curtain, casting a soft, shadowy calm.
My heart raced in my chest. The memories were still there in my head, but their effect was weaker.
Maybe because Shirley's hand was holding my tiny hand tightly, and I was lying next to her.
Her swollen eyes looked at me. Eyes that had seen no sleep since yesterday. Her soft smile carried a warmth that could melt any heart.
I took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. Like gazing into a warm green field.
"I'm here, sweetheart. I'm always here."
She placed a hand behind my head and pulled me toward her face. Her lips met mine in a long kiss.
A strange kiss, like all her kisses, but full of that mysterious warmth.
I closed my eyes.
And fell into a deep sleep.
This time—
No nightmares.
… … …
That night, I didn't look at the mirror. I avoided it.
And for the days that followed, I closed my eyes every time I saw it.
Strangely, Shirley kept moving the mirror around every day. Once it was on the couch. Once on the table. Once in the attic. And once in their bedroom.
Every time I passed by it, I either closed my eyes or acted like it didn't exist.
A week passed.
I found the mirror on the table, face down, its reflective side hidden.
Shirley was at the kitchen counter, wiping dishes.
Her green braid rested on her shoulder, as usual. Her brown corset emphasized her ample chest while her wide skirt fluttered softly
"When you're ready, let's turn the mirror over together," Sherly said, still staring at the dishes.
Yes, Shirley never treated me like a three-year-old. She treated me like a teenager with real problems. She stepped in only when needed and watched from a distance when it mattered.
Eventually, maybe after several months, I stood with Sherly before the mirror, and slowly turned it to its reflective side.
This time it was Reopard in the mirror.
…
Joy burst in my heart, and I couldn't help but laugh.
How foolish of me—how simple it all was.
Green hair, sharp green eyes, and a beautiful smile.
I was going to be a handsome man, a very handsome man