My Deepest Desire

Slowly, silently I crept down the deserted corridor towards the room I knew would be waiting for me.

“Stupid….slithering….got away…” I froze. Darting into the shadows I stood there, too afraid to move. Sure enough Ms. Ivy, the hostile biology teacher came storming past muttering darkly under her breath about god-know-what.

That was way to close. Who knows what could have happened if I was caught out of bed and wandering the halls in the dead of night. I go to a strict private academy in downtown New York that every kid would kill to be in. They only accept a select few each year and luckily, I am one of those kids. If I got expelled, I couldn’t even imagine the horrors I’d face. I remember William Everett. He was expelled last year due to an unfortunate drug incident. I heard his entire family had to move due to the unbearable scorn from their neighbors and friends.

I couldn’t let that happen to me. Or my family for that matter. We have too much pride.

Finally! I had reached the all too familiar door. I slowly ran my hand over the engravings in the wood. I don’t know for sure what the engravings mean exactly, they appear to be a foreign language, one you don’t learn in school. Though, I’ve grown so accustomed to tracing their mysterious shapes every night, I feel as if they are a part of me.

Slowly, careful not to make a sound, I turn the door handle and slip into a room so unlike most, I consider it magical.

The walls were painted a deep, rich red and were lined with books. What I loved most about this room was the types of books that lay neatly stacked upon the shelves. Thick leather bound volumes of everything you could possibly imagine lined the shelves as far as the eye could see. There were books full of poetry, stories, facts and a few curious volumes full of, well, nothing.

Settling into my favourite arm chair I found my spot in a book of poems and began reading where I had left off yesterday.

I’m not sure how long I sat there with that that book on my lap, but suddenly something made me look up. A strange sensation washed over me. The sensation of being watched. Gradually I worked up the nerve to turn around, fearing the worst. Had someone else found this place? My special place? What if it was a teacher? I could be expelled!

Nothing was there. Not even a book out of place.

Relieved, I turned back around, excited to return to my poetry. Then I saw it. The corner of something protruding around the corner of a bookcase. The bookcase on the far left wall, farthest from where I sat.

Reluctantly I got up out of my chair and headed towards what could only be described as, the shiny thing. I was so anxious as to what it might be that I was shaking uncontrollably and I was slowly going numb. It was really just my curiosity propelling me forward, without it I probably would have crumpled up on the floor in a heap right there, unable to move or speak.

At last, I reached the bookshelf. Taking a deep breath, steeling myself for the worst, I rounded the corner.

A mirror? I couldn’t believe it. I blinked a couple of times and raised my right hand. Sure enough the reflection did the same. How did it get here? I know for sure that it wasn’t here yesterday. These were the poetry stacks. The book I was reading came from these shelves. Where did it come from?

With a start I realized that there was something odd about the mirror. Though the mirror reflected everything I did, my reflection was different somehow. The mirror-image me looked older, more accomplished. There was a stack of books at its-er my feet, and with a closer look I realized all the books had my name written on them. Novels! Fully published! Written by me! This mirror must show the future! What else could it be?

“Wow,” I breathed, “I can’t believe that’s truly me!” My mirror-image smiled and nodded. As mirror me turned around to talk to someone who had walked up my eyes wandered. Look at all those beautiful markings on the mirrors frame! They remind me of the markings engraved on the door. What could they mean? It had to be some sort of ancient language, dead to our generation.

Then it dawned on me. This entire time I’ve had this feeling, a very little feeling, but a feeling all the same, that I have seen this mirror before. I had! But never in real life. Only in books, more specifically books from this room.

“The Mirror of Erised,” I whispered. A myth, a legend. Could it really be?

Hurtling through the rows of books I came to a stop in front of a bookcase that held only books pertaining to legends. After a few frantic minutes of searching I finally found what I was looking for. “Ancient Legends: A Study of Myths from Before Our Time”. I hurriedly flipped towards the middle, desperate to find answers.

“The Mirror of Erised is rumored to reveal the hearts deepest desire. The person looking into the mirror shall see themselves fulfilling the heart’s desire. Be warned! This mirror does not portray the future. Men have withered away, wasting their lives in front of this mirror.”

A wise, old man once said, I vaguely remember, “The happiest man on earth would look into the mirror and see only himself, exactly as he is.” So then, what I was seeing in the mirror, me being a published author and all, was not true, not my future. Merely a wish, my hearts utmost desire. I was crushed. Well at least I now had something concrete to work towards, rather than reading my life away.

Ideas were flitting through my mind as I quietly shut the door behind me. I crept silently back to my room visualizing characters and magical places. Maybe I’d even use my room, the room that inspired me to write, as my first setting. I can’t wait to start my first novel!