Creating Worlds - Mirror Me
By Jared L.
Created in Canva; Enhanced with Canva AI
Disclaimer: The following article is Part I of a fantasy series written by Jared L. It may contain mild fantasy darkness/violence, and/or mature topics. Reader discretion is advised.
To view other parts of this series, follow the links below:
A mysterious world, a corrupt dystopian, or a dreamy city can be the settings of many creative stories. A writer holds the power to create entire worlds with a simple pen and paper, which is an amazing skill to possess. However, every skill needs to be trained. Thankfully, NorthStar Academy brings many training opportunities for young writers. The world written below has been made from one of these assignments by Jared L.
Mirror Me
The large ballroom with its gold-colored floor and intricately designed white pillars seemingly stretched on forever. Hundreds of people were dancing in the masquerade and socializing as if nothing was wrong in the world. How could they be so naive? Wes, with his pearly white suit and tie, looked over the dancing inside of the golden walls and silver columns from the pristine balcony, his mind racing. He was invited here because he had millionaires for parents who liked to show off their wealth. If it weren’t for that connection, he would be out on the streets with the ever-growing aroma of death.
It was a mystery what it looked like. Some speculated it was a mist-like essence that was guided through the air. Others thought it was a dark shadow after a church bell chimed, silently bringing someone to their demise. Whatever death was, it was certainly spreading. After all, a whole town was seemingly decimated overnight. Nearby cities barricaded their houses and were told not to go outside by authorities in power until they figured out what was happening. Wes didn’t like it. He didn’t like any of it. He felt trapped in the large room, he hated having to live in constant fear of something no one truly knew about. He was disgusted that the people around him put on a mask hiding their face, or more accurately, their fear.
Wes adjusted his mask. It wasn’t a lion, or a tiger, or a bear that represented power and authority, but instead a rabbit. Its white edges and gold rim around the eyes made the mask look like it was straight from South African gold mines.
“May I help you, monsieur?”
Wes jumped as he was snapped out of his mind’s eye. “Oh, thank you but I’m alright,” he responded to the waiter.
“Care for a drink?” the waiter said with a smile.
“I don’t drink, thank you for the offer though.”
The waiter gave a slight bow and walked down the stairs to serve the other, more happy guests. The band was playing a slowed-down version of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” by Frank Sinatra.
“How eerie,” Wes thought, “almost makes my skin crawl.” The slower melody made the dance floor sway in unison as the flowing dresses went back and forth. He started heading down the stairs to the dance floor right as the singer sang, “So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me.” Wes wasn’t feeling too comfortable about this. Something was wrong, he could feel it. The elevator chimed. “Oh great, another rich scaredy cat,” Wes thought in secret. He would never say it to anyone’s face. He had neither the courage nor the reason to say it except for spite.
The doors opened and five figures stepped out, dressed entirely in black, each with a mask on. They were not masquerade masks however, instead, they were blank plates covering the whole of their faces. The other elevator chimed as well, releasing six more of the same kind of mysterious figures. Upon further inspection, Wes noticed that all of the figures wore gloves and didn’t leave a trace of skin exposed. “They seemed to be hiding more than the other rich folk around here, that’s for sure,” Wes thought. He observed these mysterious figures as they spread out around the outside of the dance floor standing in a separated line, almost as if they were making a barricade. “Don’t you know little fool? You never can win,” sang the band as Wes made his way back up the gold-laced staircase to get a better view of whatever this was. He looked over the balcony and saw a glimmer of something held in the gloves of each of the dark figures. They silently moved, their emotionless masks showing no sign of what will happen next. “Who are these people?” Wes asked in a whisper to no one in particular. Just as he spoke a gloved hand wrapped around him and the shine of a sickle glistened in the chandelier’s light. His eyes widened as he thought of a way to escape. Wes swiftly kicked the attacker’s leg, snatching the blade from his hands. He quickly pinned the attacker to the ground, as they tumbled across the floor, throwing punch after punch trying to land a blow. The white glove turned red and the attacker fell still. Wes got up and stumbled to the railing that once overlooked the dance floor, only to the cold conclusion that he was the only one who remained, that was grasping onto life. As he stood with darkness surrounding him, he began to wonder, “Why did they think they could outrun death?”
Wes sat up with a jolt, a person who was standing in the corner of the room rushing to set Wes down again with a shocked expression on his face. His ribs burned like heated steel as he went back down on his back. His vision was obstructed by some sort of material on his face.
“Calm down sir, you’ll be alright,” the stranger said.
“Who-” Wes started, getting cut off by the stranger putting a silent finger on his lips. The room was dark and drab with holes and scrapes all along the walls and floor. There were multiple stretchers with people lying down on them, most unmoving. The room was cold and damp, and reeked of death.
Wes tried again. “Where am I?” he asked.
The man looked behind him and answered in a half-whisper, “You're in a morgue.” He said as he motioned to the other tables, “No one has claimed your body yet, but it looks like we don’t need to wait any longer as you're well-alive.”
Wes lay in silence for a second, trying to figure it all out in his head. “You- you didn’t think of checking for pulses or vitals first?”
The man shook his head. “When we know the Red Mist is involved, there are never survivors. Their work is clean and concise. You're the first to live to tell about one of their atta-” He was cut off by the sounds of a door slamming open. Two other masked morgue workers brought another table into the room. They set the table in the room and promptly left, seemingly not enjoying being surrounded by dead bodies. The man turned back to Wes. “Your tag says you were gathered from the debris three months ago though. We need to get you to see the High Order so you can be…alive again.”
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Jared L. lives in North Carolina with his parents and two dogs. He is a sophomore in his fourth year at NorthStar Academy. Some of his interests include running a small-time YouTube channel as well as making mini films. In addition to being on the Navigator for his first year, he is also a part of NSA's student council, as well as NSA's esport team.