• It took me days to find the room of reflection. I knew where it was because I've spent a lot of time in there. However, for the same reason I knew its location I also knew that it was no longer where it was. The room is a live system and just like the human system it tries to adapt where foreign bodies cannot enter. I respect the room's resolve. Nevertheless, I found it all over again without much discord.

    I opened the door that was made out of ash and had a shiny white knob. I walked in while my eyes stared at the floor. I walked in with bare feet and bare everything. The room was breathing heavily; it gasped for air. I would have whispered it comforting words if it had not started whispering first. The murmurs seeped into my mind and made my ears scream. The mirrors surrounding me amplified the shrill scream. The walls and the floors echoed it back into my soul. The resound was too deafening and far too caustic.

    All during the banter of the room and myself there was a distant sound. It was far away, feathery, and sharp. The noise was a laugh, a fragile laugh made out of glass. My core longed to reach out and shatter the one who dared to render the sound. They, the room and the one who was too far gone, had my mind in their palms. They knew what I thought and what my soul craved. They made the figure appear in front of my dewy eyes. The figure, the boy who laughed, was in the mirrors.

    I struck the room with a closed fist. It broke underneath my minute force. Mirrors are fragile. The boy who lived in the mirrors was fragile. The room shattered and fell all around me. The boy was lying on the floor. He was wounded, visceral, and real.

    Irrevocably, I left the room and have never been able to find it again. The room of reflection might be dead. Then again, maybe it is just my luck. I will have to search again in seven years.