I Found My Sister’s Diary After She Disappeared
The body of my sister was thrown with such force from inside of the mirror that her face was unrecognizable from the impact. She had landed face up, head tilted back, arms flailed out to the sides. Shards of glass protruded from her face. I knew it was her because of her pale blonde hair, still braided. And because of her long, delicate fingers. Those fingers, now dripping blood, at some point took something sharp and sliced so deeply into her thin wrists that I could see muscle. Only half of her tall body was out of the mirror. The other half lay inside—somewhere—I couldn’t see it. The half I did see was bloody, ended in a stump. The entrails were hanging out, some of them coiled up and out of the mirror like slimy octopus tentacles. The rest of them were hidden in the nothingness, along with Emma’s porcelain-white legs.
Mr. and Mrs. Johnsson had one child, a quiet, shy 10-year-old boy named David. He was exploring the small two-bedroom apartment. He didn’t care that they had to move to another state for his dad’s jobs, because he didn’t many friends in his old state anyway. Maybe this could be a brand new start for him, or so he hoped. Rent was cheap here and it was all his parents could afford right now. On the plus side, the former owners had left so much stuff behind! And the Johnssons needed a new couch, anyway.
David was in the room that would soon be his. There was broken stuff everywhere. He stood in front of a broken mirror that leaned up against a wall. Glass from it was strewn all over the bedroom floor. He squatted down to look into the remaining glass that was attached to the wooden frame. He tilted his head and waved his hands in front of it. His reflection was there in the fragments, but it was…off. “Hmm,” he said aloud, contemplatively. He tried to make sense of it. He stopped and just stared. His reflection smiled at him.