The Mirrored Life

Transport City

By Maura Klotzel



My mamma always tells me to walk with my head held high, never low. She says it’s disgraceful for our kind, and if we do it, the low people will try to take over our place in royalty. I don’t care though, the lower class never sees me and I never see them. They can try to overrule the dictator, my step father, and I’ll cheer them on. It would be a much better place without him. A man so wretched and vile, that I rather trade my soul to the devil then have supper with him. The things he says, and how he makes protocall are all stupid. I rather see my new unborn sibling rule, though they’ll have half his genes so he or she will be half as stupid as him. I don’t know what my mother sees in him. I wish he would just die, the world would be a better place without him.

A slight tap on the door made my head whip towards it, then back to the painting that laid before me. Crap.

“Yes,” I kept my tone firm, trying not to let the uneasiness that I felt out.

“Andrea,” a murmur came from behind. Dammit, I’m so dead. Get the guillotine ready folks, cause that is where I’ll be headed. Do they even have one of those anymore? Probably in my step father’s torture room. Though that’s an old invention, centuries old. And really the only ancient thing in this world is the huge house, I’m living in. I don’t get why most of the middle class and aristocrats get to live in a technological paradise, while we continue to stay in the stone age. I feel as if the Amish were still around.

“Andrea,” another soft knock.

“Yes, mother. What honor do I owe this visit?”

“Young Lady, I will not be spoken to in that manner. Have you learnt nothing of conversational skills?” If my eyes could roll all the way behind my head, they’d be doing it right about now. God, does she ever shut up. She’s like a robot, that’s battery never dies.

“I’m very sorry, my dear mother. What news bring you all the way to my room.” I’m going to puke, literally. “I hope no stress has been put on the child.”

“No dear, I’ve come to tell you supper is being served.” That’s it. No lecture on how I should dress more formally, or speak more politely to my parents. No, you should get out more and socialize. Or find a rich husband, who will be heir to the throne. Just informing me about a measly meal. Is she that desperate, that she can’t send a maid up to do it for her. This is so dumb, it isn’t enough that I have people trying to dress me, and tell me what to wear. But also have people scheduling my life, telling me when to eat and when not to. I want to scream, yell and kick. But I can’t, I’m like a porcelain doll and my life in society is my owner. I’m dressed and positioned in a way that they find acceptable. And everyone I know is death to my voice. The words I say, echo back to me. My words echo back to a empty, cold soul. That is alive, but not really living. I want to be a bird, then I could do whatever I wanted.

“I appreciate what you did mother. Thank-You very much. Please, give me a few minutes. I’d like to dress into something more suitable. You go on, I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

“Okay, dear. But hurry, I wouldn’t want you eating a cold meal.” That’s it, Andrea. You did it, you kept your cool. Now just wait until you hear her footsteps reside, There, she’s gone. Your safe, the painting is safe.

I took in the portrait, that sat on a rather large looking easel. Oil paints of all different colors, lined the tapestry. From a dark brown to a mahogany color. And bright colors such as sky blue to a peach color. It was one of the finest pieces I had ever drawn. It was a perfection of what I longed for. The beauty and innocence, that I craved for. A place where there is no rulers, and everything is equally fair. People don’t have a status, and children don’t bicker with there mothers. Everyone talks freely and enjoys each others company. A location so beautiful that it made you want to cry. That is what sat in front of me. That is what I envisioned. Even if it wasn’t the full place, at least it was a bit of it. I can almost feel myself living there, not in this stinkhole. If I were there, I would smile and not have to shut myself away. I could run around in the sun, laugh and play. I would sing and jump for joy, whenever I got a home cooked meal that I would of course helped made. I would be free.

A thought crept into my mind. Andrea, you could go there if you just ...No. I won’t! Come on, you’ll enjoy it. And maybe this time, you could live there. Escape this rat’s nest. Dammit, where’s the angel’s voice when I need it. I slowly climbed off the vast bed, and walked towards the painting.

I started to consider my options. I could do it, or I could get back on my bed and forget I ever thought about it. Or an even better idea, I could go down and have supper with my family. If I did do it, I would have to be quick. But it would be entertaining, and calm my mood. And why should I abuse a gift, that I’ve so graciously been given. Even if my family does not approve. OK Andrea, you can do this!! Just keep walking, and hurray you’ve made. Your officially in front of your darling painting. Now reach forward, and go.

I let my right hand stretch out towards the painting, not realizing that it was clenched so tight before that it was bleeding. My finger tips brushed against the surface of the painting. I could feel it, the odd sensation of mixed emotions overwhelmed me. A place deep in my heart, that was empty was now filled with happiness. I was complete. A strong smell of oak and fruits filled my nostrils. It wasn’t a musky feeling, like I smelled in my bedroom. Now it was like a clear summer day, in the woods. The air was fresh, and pure. I slowly moved forward, in between two worlds. The real world, and the world I had drawn. The places started to blur, and I soon found myself in the painting. Everything was real, not just colors. It wasn’t just a figment of my imagination. The whole house was one room, a table sat in the center with the delicious looking fruit. Such as oranges, apples, pears, bananas and kiwis. Everything was made out of wood, the bowls, walls and even the furniture. All of it was handmade, and was well built. A painting hung over the fireplace on the far right. In front of it was two twin beds, side by side, with quilts covering them. Beside the fireplace was a door, that lead to Freedom Land. It was breath taking, absolutely stunning. For someone like me, and never having been able to see something like this in my entire life, being able to picture something and able to go through the thresholds of reality into it is amazing. It’s wonderful, it’s the times when I can just be myself and be calm. I don’t have to worry about anything, I’m a tiger running fast in the jungle. I’m a eagle, soaring through the air. Having the wind whip through me, and enjoying the thrill ride. This is the one true moment, where I’m not a doll. This is the place I want to be. I want to stay here, forever. I looked at the door, it was my salvation. No more formal talking, no more etiquette school, no more girly clothing and no more family. All I had to do was go out that door, I crossed my fingers and prayed that it would work. I tried stepping forward, but I couldn’t. It was like a barrier was in front of me, and it made sure to resist ever attempt I tried to get through it. I tried to stretch my arms forward, but I couldn’t. Again I was stuck, I couldn’t move forward. I took a step backwards, that worked. I could move back, but not forward. I could see the utopia, but not live it or walk it. I could stay here, and never return to my bedroom. If I lived her, I wouldn’t have to face the ugly life I’ve lived for the past twelve years. But if I don’t go back, I’ll starve and die here. But would that be such a bad thing, I mean starvation looks prettier then the life my parents have planned out for me. Get married, make babies for the sake of my husband and die forgotten. If I died here, no one would really care that I was dead just that I didn’t have any airs to the throne. But even though that’s a harsh imagery, I don’t want to be stuck looking at something that I can never have. This is the same as sitting on my bed, watching the painting. The only difference is I have a more clear view, and I can smell the woodsy place. I looked back, just a white light. Waiting for me to go back, to the life I wish I never was born to.

I sighed to myself, and slowly made my descent back to reality. Again I was overcome by the strong sensation of different feelings and the blurring of fiction and reality. I frowned to myself, as I found that I was once again in my little doll house. I turned and slowly remembered and inhaled all the beautiful imagery I saw, and how it felt. If I were to escape this life, I must not paint and think about it. I must take action, that is the only way I’ll succeed. Sitting on my bed, will do nothing. And even if there isn’t a place as inspiring as on the canvas, at least I’ll be free. All I want is out of this place. Out of this life, and family name. Just as I was about the think of a plan, the door swung open and my mother strolled in. When her eyes caught sight of the painting, she screamed. Her face a look of shock and horror.

“GUA—GUARDS, GUARDS COME QUICK. COME THIS INSTANTS.” She strode over to where I was standing, her hand raise. I felt the pain, and soreness before it even it hit my face. My cheeks were probably red, and I was on the verge of crying But I held the tears back, and said nothing to my mother. All the sarcastic remarks that had infiltrated me early, seem to be dumb and childish now. I couldn’t win against the puppet master, because she held on to my thread and letting go would mean a bloody death. Four guards, dressed in armor, swiftly made there entrance into my room. They took once glance at the painting, and one of them grabbed it.

“BU—BU—BURN IT! IMMEDIATELY.” They all stood frozen, realizing the beauty of what I’d drawn but also the knowledge of there job. There thoughts were probably pondering on why a mother would want to destroy a daughter’s artwork. “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? I said, NOW”

All of them left, like a racing horse. My mother didn’t face me, but spoke to the side.

“No dinner for you. That is your consequence for disobeying your country’s law. If I find you doing this again, I will lock you up in a place that will have you begging for mercy,” She left me standing there, all alone. I looked around the room, wondering how she figured out about the painting. I saw above my bed, shadowed a bit by the bed curtains a surveillance camera. I felt like a idiot, how did I not notice that there before. But even though I was worn out, I knew I couldn’t give up hope. I will let them think they control me, but one day I’ll turn on them. At a time when they’re in dire need of me, I will leave. And the plan, that will live out that day, will start now.