What Comes Out of the Mirror

The lake was like glass, so still it was, and the little, forgotten pier of rotting wood was half collapsed into the water. Some reeds by the bank were alive with the buzzing of insects, and a short, red maple tree, caught in a breeze, cast its blood colored leaves onto the mirror like surface. Little ripples slowly spread, fading, and the star shaped debris drifted gradually apart.

In heaven the sun held court, and it was a hot day. So, despite all the warnings, warnings he could hardly credit, the young man stopped at the lake, admiring its gentile, unbusy calm. The breeze coming off it was cool and wet. He stripped quickly. The pier threatened to give under him as he walked to its edge. He leapt, and soaring naked in the air, dived swiftly into that glistening reflection.

Over time the ripples smoothed themselves, and the lake grew still again, but the boy never returned to this side of the mirror. Only his reflection came out again and redressed itself in his clothes.

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