She ran her searching hands over the cold, smooth surface of the glass. Then she ran her hands over her own defined face, feeling where the skin was smooth and where it was jagged, like the mirror shard. She imagined that her face was disfigured; that there were long, raised scars marring the otherwise smooth skin.
For a moment, she could feel them there.
It was a stormy night outside, much like it had been on the day that the mirror the shard itself originated from had finally shattered. She had known that the world had been somehow off in the hours that preceded it, but couldn’t have put a name to it if she’d tried. She had been more sensitive than anyone else to the sudden humidity, the increased thickness of the air which made her feel much like she could have sliced through it. Then the thunder had come, and lightening had pierced the jelly-air. Rain had lashed out furiously against the windows and the trees had been uprooted by the chaotic power of the gales which followed.
That had been years ago. Fortune had lain curled up on her bed, listening calmly to the curtain of rain showering down upon the roof, to the plaintive howl of the wind. Her cat, Tregamite, had lain next to her. She rested a hand on his soft, furry back and felt him quiver every time a new round of thunder struck. She ran her gentle, soothing hand all over him, gradually teasing it through his fur, his paws, and his whiskers. Tregamite had eventually built up a loud, somehow warming purr to match the rumbling of the thunder outside.
She had been able to relate to Tregamite; she, like him, had whiskers. Her mother had laughed at the idea and told her that her imagination simply carried her too far away sometimes. Her whiskers, Fortune thought, were so thin and pale that nobody could see or sense them apart from her. She could feel them brushing against surfaces when she got too close. Even in the darkness, there was a force field around her which veered inwards whenever it was penetrated.
However, she rarely quivered in fear like Tregamite had on that night of the storm – apart from when she was in unknown territory. For all she knew the people around her could be aliens or the voices around her could simply be thoughts. She had no way of telling; she couldn’t see their lips moving. She drifted from her body to become the Venus Fly Trap she ventured to imagine at the corner of the school grounds, hungrily snapping its mouth at passing bugs, which passed in front.
Maybe her whiskers had malfunctioned, or maybe she had just been too distracted in her daydream to notice them vibrating. Whichever way, the next thing she knew was that her foot had caught on something long and slightly raised from the ground, and she had tripped forward to find herself face to face with the cold, damp concrete.
She struggled to her feet, hoping that the scornful laughter which was now erupting all around her had been imagined, too. Day dreams, night dreams – there was not all that much difference to her.
“Why doesn’t she look where she’s going?”
“She’s so ugly. So short, no dress sense, and her eyes …”
“The way she looks at you is so strange. It’s as if her eyes don’t register you at all.”
It was curious, to hear other people talking about her as if she had never existed. She wondered whether anybody would notice if she had stayed there, nose against concrete, one grazed knee lightly touching the other. Perhaps they wouldn’t; perhaps the whispers would go on forever. People who didn’t know or understand would never run out of witty quips, of sarcastic remarks.
She wondered, then, how they would have acted if they had known. Some would have apologized; others would have avoided her all the more for it. She could just imagine the sickly sweet, innocent tones they would address her in. Some of them, maybe, would sound awkward and uncomfortable. Those would be the ones who actually meant it.
There was one girl, however, who had noticed and cared. Her tone had indeed been awkward and hushed as she had approached Fortune and offered her a hand up. Over the next few weeks she talked to Fortune and made her feel not such an outcast. She had long hair which Fortune could often hear swishing very quietly around her shoulders, and she always smelt of vanilla perfume. The scent of vanilla, which always notified Fortune that Castalia was nearby.
Castalia had chosen Fortune, had helped her when nobody else would. Fortune never even told her. She knew it would come out eventually – but she wanted to keep it her own secret for as long as she could. Still, she could feel with an intuition above average sensitivity that that date was coming closer every minute. She told her mother, who had been constantly worried and questioning Fortune, that it was okay – that she had made friends. She had stretched out her hands and tried, playfully, to tease her mother’s worn frown into a smile. Her unconvinced tone had made her heart drop.
She felt betrayal above anything else: I thought you believed in me, Mum.
Castalia had known Fortune for three months when Fortune finally invited her to her home. It was an icy winter morning, and Fortune had led Castalia through the front door rather like a guide dog. Fortune had felt her mother there, feel the pride radiating from her in waves.
“Hello, Castalia,” her mother said. She took Fortune’s hand and led her to the living room. “I’m so glad you have taken to Fortune, you know,” she said, sometime after they had settled down inside the living room.
Fortune had seen it coming, but been for a few moments almost unperturbed, until the full extent of what her mother would say next truly hit her and she shook her head at her mother very gently, trying not to let Castalia see what she was doing. Her mother hadn’t seen.
“I was so worried that she wouldn’t make friends – she’s been home schooled all her life, as I’m sure she’s told you – not that she’s not a lovely girl, of course,” she added hastily. “I should have had more faith in you really, Fortune.” She placed a warm, comforting hand on the lower part of Fortune’s arm.
“Why did you not think she would make friends, Mrs Sengrez?” Castalia asked, her tone a perfect portrayal of innocent curiosity.
Fortune froze.
“I guess,” her mother said, “That it’s just the fact that it seems to put a lot of people off. It’s completely unjustified, of course.”
“What seems to put a lot of people off?” Castalia’s tone was simply bewildered now.
Fortune could feel her mother frowning. She could hear it in her tone.
“Fortune has told you, of course, hasn’t she?”
“Told me what?”
“Castalia, Fortune’s blind.”
Fortune closed her unseeing, piercing blue eyes and felt a single tear escape from beneath her eyelids. The darkness was the same, whether it was in the day or the night, whether it was in a dream or in reality, which was really not much more than a daydream itself.
***
She was used to it, however. She had always been used to it. In a way it allowed her to appreciate the world more, allowed her to feel the world, to hear the sounds around her and inhale the scents around her with a passion that not many others could even have feigned.
It was a warm summer's day some years after Fortune’s secret had finally escaped and finally taken on a life of its own. They sat in front of the waterfall, listening to its thundering downfall, squealing as droplets bounced of the surface of the pool below it and splashed against the bare skin of their arms and face.
“It’s a shame you can’t see the waterfall, Fortune – it’s beautiful,” Castalia said.
There was a long, silent pause, which Castalia broke hastily. “Oh God – I didn’t mean for that to come out so insensitively. I’m sorry.”
Fortune laughed. She could feel Castalia’s bewildered gaze resting on her.
“You know what I was thinking?” Fortune said.
“What?”
“I was thinking what a shame it is that you can’t feel the water.”
Sounding even more bewildered, Castalia said, “But I can!”
“No, you can’t,” Fortune said. “Not yet.” She was smiling now, a secretive, mischievous smile she could not shake off.
“What do you -?” The sentence had ended in some kind of mixture between a gasp, a squeal and a scream, muffled by an unexpected splash of a body hitting the surface of the water – sopping wet and laughing, Castalia found her feet touching the sand beneath the water in the pool, only moments between Fortune jumped in herself.
“I see what you mean now,” Castalia said wonderingly, and she meant it.
It was a beautiful summer’s day, and the secrets which had never truly needed to be kept had drifted away along with the grey, murky clouds such a perfect day would not allow.
). I never know how much to give away and how much to keep to myself in writing a mystery, but you put yourself in the readers' shoes perfectly. There's a good dynamic between piquing interest and meaningful writing in your story, well done!
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