Boooooks

Katie B.

United States

Hi! My name is Katie. I am a fourteen years old, and I really enjoy reading and writing. When I'm not daydreaming or playing my violin, you can find me sketching, baking, wake boarding, swimming or skiing.

Message from Writer

Hi! I love reading and writing, and I can't wait to keep improving my creative writing skills! In my free time, I like to play the violin, cook, ski, wakeboard, swim, and do art projects.

The Reflection

October 24, 2015

Her house was gone, as was her family.
She had been wandering aimlessly for hours, carrying only a little food and water, a scratchy wool blanket, and a hairbrush. Oh, how she loned for the luxuries of home! The closet fit for  a princess, the warm fluffy, bed, the beautiful decorations- it had all been hers. That was before the storm.

    And then it hit, icy claws ripping at the walls, crystal voice howling down the door. It was the worst one yet. Her family was gone. She knew that; she could feel it in her bones. So she ran.

    She ran far away, far, far, away, getting nowhere, yet still moving away. She knew that there was no use. She would never escape the frozen world. She kept running.

    And then she stopped. There was cold in her soul, freezing her from the inside out. Her heart, her feelings, her desire was frozen. She could not go on. She reached into her pack and felt a cold handle slip through her fingers. Cold, hard, smooth.

    She yanked it out, shivering violently. It was the only thing worth living for. She started to brush. The crystals of ice crackled under the fine bristles, her hair warming from the friction of the touch. She plaited her hair down the back, fingers shaking from frostbite, adorning it with a ribbon from her dress.

    Feeling much improved, she began to walk, studying her fine work in the silver reflection of the brush's base. Her hair was falling perfectly, and the engraving on the brush decorated her mirror image like tinsel on a tree.

    Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was a stroke of poor luck. Suddenly, she no longer felt the crunch of snow under her feet, but instead, open air. She was falling.

    Icy air whipped through her body, her limbs flailed as she reached for something to grasp. Her lungs were frozen with shock and terror, frantic air that was too thick to possibly breathe.

    Her head jerked back with a sharp snap as she plunged into the frigid water, her limbs unable to move from sheer exhaustion. She turned her neck towards the surface, only to see a silver hairbrush, now frozen in a sheen of ice, sinking into the deep water, parallel to her motions.

    And as she looked into the silvery back of the hairbrush as she had moments before, all she saw was a black hole where a face should have been, crawling with worms and filled with grime. Her hair was gone.

Finally, blackness.


    

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