Reflected

Elijah’s eyesight was not as good as it had been before his growth spurt. He assumed that was because of his constant hunger. Still, he could make out shapes well enough. And he could hear. The neighborhood kids, those mean bullies, were playing in the street. Elijah skulked away from the glass, hoping the snatchers would take them away, too.

Elijah’s belly bellowed. His hunger had gotten so permanent, his stomach had stopped politely growling. Dutifully, he left the living room and went to his mother’s favorite place in the house—the plant room. He had liked that room, too.

When mama was around. . . Elijah frowned. All of you were so pretty, he said to the dead plants. Brown thorns and saggy husks littered the pretty pots. The only two plants still living were a choking vine and a berry bush. Elijah did not like the vine very much. At first, he had liked its flowers. But after his mother left, the vine took over the room and choked all the other plants. Now, it sprawled triumphantly across the entire room, draping along the wall, wrapping around the windows, and even burying roots into the wooden floor.

Still, there was one thing the vine would not touch. Elijah approached a big berry bush and plucked several red fruits from a branch. He closed his eyes, held his breath, and chewed ravenously. He no longer cared to taste the berries. He was sure that if he allowed himself a taste, he would throw up. Elijah swallowed and muttered, “There. Happy?”

His gut grumbled ungratefully.

Elijah rolled his eyes and took one more berry. He tossed it into his mouth, stifled his gag reflex, and quickly swallowed. I have to eat more, he told himself. Mama wants me to. He knew that much, at least. That was why, every night while Elijah slept, his mother came and added more berries. She even kept the mean vine away from the bush.

The little boy risked a glance out the window. A vague reflection peered back at him. Seeing a fat boy with greasy hair and pink skin, Elijah quickly looked away. “Yuck,” he groaned. He pulled a trinket out from his pocket and frowned, “I wish I was pretty like you, mama.” His mother had always liked that necklace, a heart-shaped locket. She even said, the night before she was snatched, that it helped her remember who she was. Elijah thought that was a weird thing to say, but he loved carrying the locket anyways. On that day, however, he decided to actually put the necklace on. It was heavy, but it made him feel strong.

Like a cannon to his ears came a series of eerie screams.

Elijah immediately crouched low. He backed away from the windows. He had learned not to trust the screamers. They always carried snatchers, and the snatchers made people go away. He tightened his grip on his mother’s locket and stealthily returned to the kitchen.

He liked that room the most. All the cooking stuff had been packed in big boxes. His mother had even stacked them so they formed a barrier between the living room and the kitchen. Nobody could see him from the windows. Nobody could hear him. He even had a few empty cupboards to hide in.

Elijah squeezed by two of tallest stacks. He liked to pretend they were the towers of his castle. A few boxes at the top of his towers wiggled. The silverware clanged slightly. Elijah glanced up at the sound nervously. He had not disturbed his mother’s stuff yet and he did not want to make a mess now. If he did, he was scared she would finally come back—see what a mess he had made—and leave again. When the boxes stopped moving, Elijah sighed.

“Hi, Franklin,” he waved, walking up to a spindly sapling which had sprouted in the sink. Its roots had nearly clogged the drain, but Elijah did not mind. He liked Franklin’s company.

“Anything happen while you were on watch?” He asked his second-in-command. He peered down the drain to make sure no bugs were attacking Franklin’s roots.

All quiet on the front, the child noted. He scanned his battlements. The mouse that had tried to assault the western ramparts had not come back. “I told you they would not bother us again,” Elijah declared proudly. He tickled Franklin’s trunk playfully. A yellow leaf fell into the sink bowl.

“Thirsty?” Elijah inquired. He turned faucet and filled the sink up to the brim. The sapling’s crown looked like a lily pad floating in a swamp. Elijah smiled and said, just like his mother used to, “Bath time!” Then, just like his mother, he splashed Franklin.

A spat of giggles overtook him as he and the sapling swayed unsteadily. He took a damp rag and washed the dry leaves, “There,” he said softly, “Just like mama would have—”

Another screamer charged down the road.

Elijah froze. Usually, the screamers just passed by. A few seconds elapsed and, instead of fading—the screamer got louder. Just like when they took mama, the boy realized. “Be quiet,” he warned Franklin. “And don’t move,” he added, mostly to reassure himself.

He knelt down and crawled into one of the large, empty cupboards adjacent to the sink. The screaming started to pierce his ears and soon, it was clear they were close. Abruptly, the screaming stopped. Two doors opened and closed.

The snatchers were in his neighborhood again. Elijah shook his head in disbelief. I’ve been good. They can’t be here for me. Nobody cares about me. A long second ensued. He pulled at his hair and ordered his beating heart to quiet down. As he waited for something to happen, he felt an overwhelming urge to run from his hiding spot. He anticipated the heavy knock at the door. So, when he heard that very same knock which had taken his mother away—he started to cry.

He bolted out of his hiding spot and began begging for his life. “Please, I was good. Just like my mama. Can you tell her I was—”

The knocking was coming from across the street.

Elijah licked his lips and looked around. I am safe. They are snatching someone else. He waited for a minute for the snatchers to leave with someone else. When they did, he wiped away his tears and glared at the grease stains on the stove. He saw his twisted face in the muck and scolded, “Stupid, ugly kid.”

He glanced at Franklin, who was floating in the bath. Elijah smiled faintly. At least his friend had not seen. That would be too embarrassing, he decided. Everyone but his mother and Franklin knew how stupid he was, but his mother was gone. Only Franklin would tolerate him. Elijah smiled at his friend, let out a series of staccato breaths, and then drained the sink. He stood the sapling up and put his head against Franklin’s leaves, “Love ya.”

Elijah looked around his fort. He began to crawl up a tower when he heard the familiar whoosh coming from the basement. He knew what the sound meant, but he was too tired. He ignored another whoosh and summited the topmost box. It was his favorite place to nap in the whole house. His mother had even put a label on it, though Elijah could not read it. He liked that box simply because it smelled like his mother. Every time he sat up there, it was like his mother was sitting next to him.

Elijah yawned and laid in fetal position. He clasped his mother’s locket. He wondered how someone could remember who they were from a necklace. He thought that was weird.

A minute or an hour passed when Elijah awoke to another whoosh. Annoyed, he climbed down his tower, traveled warily through the brightly lit living room, and descended into the dark basement. Once down there, he lifted his pants above his shins. The entire lower level had flooded and it took forever for clothes to dry in the kitchen.

Instinctually, Elijah turned down a corridor and entered a dim living room. Several pieces of a curtain floated at his feet. This annoyed him even more. He grabbed the damp cloth and charged a window well. He held up the cloth.

A hand took it from him.

“Want to come play?” asked a voice behind the curtain.

“Nobody wants me on their team,” Elijah protested. “Plus my mom could be coming home. I don’t want her to worry.”

The voice behind the curtain said nothing.

“Well go!” Elijah shooed.

The voice pleaded, “But we need one more person for the game!”

Elijah stomped his feet and shook his head, “You guys call me names! I don’t want to play with anyone.”

“But we don’t,” groaned the voice. “Go look in a mirror, idiot.”

Elijah hated that word, “See!” He looked around the flooded bedroom for something to throw. He found an old candlestick and tossed it at the curtain. The voice let out a yelp and scurried out of the window well, “You’re crazy, Elijah.”

“I am not!” the child shouted. When no one responded, Elijah said again, quietly, “I am not crazy.” When again nobody replied, Elijah wiped his eyes and left the bedroom. He clasped his mother’s necklace against his chest.

He walked into a nearby bathroom and flicked on the lights. As they buzzed, Elijah tried to look into the mirror. That kid was teasing. Why would anyone want to look at this? His face was all blobby and pink. His eyes were smeared and his hair was streaky. He looked nothing like his mother. Elijah shuddered. If he could not bear to look at himself, how could anyone? How could his mother, for that matter?

The little boy picked at his thumbs. He never realized he was doing it, though it helped him calm down when his mind was fixated on something. He peeled a large chunk of skin off his finger. The slicing pain was followed by a trickle of blood. Elijah winced and sucked on the blood. As he raced to put his thumb in his mouth, he knocked the necklace. up. It swung up and when it fell back, the chain tightened and the heavy part snapped off.

Elijah frantically dove after his mother’s jewel. He saved the locket just before it landed in the water, but when he went to put it back on the chain—it did not look the same.

Elijah did not know jewelry had doors, but he was fascinated by what he had just opened. The locket had two sides. He easily recognized the first side. There was a picture of his mother, as pretty and sweet as he remembered. She was smiling at him with the same smile he saw in his dreams. He brushed his finger along her face. He imagined what her skin felt like.

Then, he turned toward the other half of the locket. A little mirror was slotted into place. Yet, as Elijah stared into the glass—he was sure this mirror was a trick. The dirtiness was gone. The muck was gone. There was no fog. This was not like the other mirrors. Elijah blinked; he did not recognize himself. That face was not his face, was it? He was not fat. His hair was not greasy. His skin was not pink and blotchy. No, Elijah realized—he was not ugly at all.

Elijah sniffled. He wiped his nose, rubbed his eyes, and then gently shut the locket. He put it in his pocket and turned the bathroom light off. He approached the window well and said, timidly, “I wanna play.”

A hand reached through the curtain.

Elijah took hold of it.