JUVEN
Magic Mirror
by Sujana Vangala
Magic Mirror
“Once upon a time, in a land far away,” they all begin. Heroes like Hercules, princesses like Cinderella, and villains. Villains that were evil beyond imagination. Maleficent that cursed an infant and Ursula who stole a maiden’s voice. And the mother of them all, the Evil Queen, who poisoned the apple of her own daughter. Yet, the Evil Queen, too, was poisoned. Poisoned by the Magic Mirror, who fed her with cruel whispers that ate away at her core. If it were not for the Magic Mirror, perhaps she would be like everyone else. Perhaps if she had defeated it, she would be like me.
My own arch-nemesis is a Magic Mirror, one caked in toothpaste and fogged with shower steam. He whispers in my ears as I brush my hair. Wear it down. Your face is too wide otherwise, he says, and against my own wishes, I trust him.
This Magic Mirror is crueler than the Evil Queen’s because he is always there, in my bathroom and bedroom and camera, hissing lies, defining insecurities. I lock my phone in a drawer, cover my mirrors in black paper, but he still follows me. I see him in the shiny metal of a spoon or the smooth glass of a window. He is imprinted on the back of my eyelids as I try to sleep. How do you defeat an enemy that is everywhere? How do you defeat an enemy that seems to have found a home within you?
I dab at my face with a powder puff, covering up a zit that appeared overnight. I straighten my hair and coat my lashes in mascara. More, he hisses. I run the comb through my lashes again, until they are nearly three feet long. I close my eyes and for a moment, he is silenced. But then he’s back again, venomous as ever. You will not get rid of me that easily.
I was twelve when my parents dragged me from a mild-tempered winter in Georgia to the frigid north for the New Year. Magic Mirror followed me through the airport, in the glassy eyes of the stewardesses and the mirrors of the bathrooms. His thoughts and my thoughts blended together until I barely even needed a reflection to hate myself.
People seemed kind, but I could see the glances they shot each other as soon as I entered. Perhaps it was all in my head, or Magic Mirror’s head, but they were thoughts I had all the same. One day, a gathering of us decided to explore the city on a mission to find the famous Chicago deep dish pizza. I agreed, although my Magic Mirror had told me not to. That was perhaps the worst of it. When I began to claim Magic Mirror as mine. When I began to accept his cruel lies as the truth.
Chicago was colder than I was used to, and soon my nose and ears were kissed pink and numb. We moved slowly through the streets, running into any coffee shops and bookstores that could’ve shielded us from the piercing wind. Soon our hands were filled with little trinkets that we purchased in exchange for the refuge. In our pockets, useless hand warmers, long forgotten, and in our boots, sodden socks. Magic Mirror still appeared as we passed windows and frozen puddles, but the howling gusts of the Windy City swept away his criticisms.
Perhaps it was the loss of feeling in my fingers and toes, but when we got to Cloud Gate, the “Bean”, I didn’t see my Magic Mirror at all. I didn’t hear his hissing voice when I saw my reflection, only brown eyes and lashes, thick with melted snowflakes. The largest mirror that I had ever seen, and I was alone. The city was my protector, my knight, that day. When I returned home, that shield was gone. But the idea that I could avoid my Magic Mirror’s blows at all, that I could be rid of him, was all I needed.
One day, I planned to destroy my Magic Mirror. I planned to run my fist through him, shatter him into sharp, glittering pieces. You are not brave enough, he told me.
I am, I repeated the phrase. I am, I am, I am, until the thing exploded. Shards of glass that cut my cheeks and arms, tiny creeks of blood trailing across my skin. They tore at my eyelids, too, but instead of blood, I saw light. Light and beauty and sunshine, all as if for the first time.
I still hear his whispers now, but they are small and incoherent. I can see through his lies. Perhaps if the Evil Queen was told she could shatter her mirror, that it was the true enemy, she would not be remembered as evil. She would be written as the kind step-mother and Snow White would have no fairytale at all. Because I have done the same, once upon this time, in a land not so far away. A princess who shattered the mirror and saved herself. A princess who was her own villain and hero.
“Once upon a time, in a land far away,” they all begin. Heroes like Hercules, princesses like Cinderella, and villains. Villains that were evil beyond imagination. Maleficent that cursed an infant and Ursula who stole a maiden’s voice. And the mother of them all, the Evil Queen, who poisoned the apple of her own daughter. Yet, the Evil Queen, too, was poisoned. Poisoned by the Magic Mirror, who fed her with cruel whispers that ate away at her core. If it were not for the Magic Mirror, perhaps she would be like everyone else. Perhaps if she had defeated it, she would be like me.
My own arch-nemesis is a Magic Mirror, one caked in toothpaste and fogged with shower steam. He whispers in my ears as I brush my hair. Wear it down. Your face is too wide otherwise, he says, and against my own wishes, I trust him.
This Magic Mirror is crueler than the Evil Queen’s because he is always there, in my bathroom and bedroom and camera, hissing lies, defining insecurities. I lock my phone in a drawer, cover my mirrors in black paper, but he still follows me. I see him in the shiny metal of a spoon or the smooth glass of a window. He is imprinted on the back of my eyelids as I try to sleep. How do you defeat an enemy that is everywhere? How do you defeat an enemy that seems to have found a home within you?
I dab at my face with a powder puff, covering up a zit that appeared overnight. I straighten my hair and coat my lashes in mascara. More, he hisses. I run the comb through my lashes again, until they are nearly three feet long. I close my eyes and for a moment, he is silenced. But then he’s back again, venomous as ever. You will not get rid of me that easily.
I was twelve when my parents dragged me from a mild-tempered winter in Georgia to the frigid north for the New Year. Magic Mirror followed me through the airport, in the glassy eyes of the stewardesses and the mirrors of the bathrooms. His thoughts and my thoughts blended together until I barely even needed a reflection to hate myself.
People seemed kind, but I could see the glances they shot each other as soon as I entered. Perhaps it was all in my head, or Magic Mirror’s head, but they were thoughts I had all the same. One day, a gathering of us decided to explore the city on a mission to find the famous Chicago deep dish pizza. I agreed, although my Magic Mirror had told me not to. That was perhaps the worst of it. When I began to claim Magic Mirror as mine. When I began to accept his cruel lies as the truth.
Chicago was colder than I was used to, and soon my nose and ears were kissed pink and numb. We moved slowly through the streets, running into any coffee shops and bookstores that could’ve shielded us from the piercing wind. Soon our hands were filled with little trinkets that we purchased in exchange for the refuge. In our pockets, useless hand warmers, long forgotten, and in our boots, sodden socks. Magic Mirror still appeared as we passed windows and frozen puddles, but the howling gusts of the Windy City swept away his criticisms.
Perhaps it was the loss of feeling in my fingers and toes, but when we got to Cloud Gate, the “Bean”, I didn’t see my Magic Mirror at all. I didn’t hear his hissing voice when I saw my reflection, only brown eyes and lashes, thick with melted snowflakes. The largest mirror that I had ever seen, and I was alone. The city was my protector, my knight, that day. When I returned home, that shield was gone. But the idea that I could avoid my Magic Mirror’s blows at all, that I could be rid of him, was all I needed.
One day, I planned to destroy my Magic Mirror. I planned to run my fist through him, shatter him into sharp, glittering pieces. You are not brave enough, he told me.
I am, I repeated the phrase. I am, I am, I am, until the thing exploded. Shards of glass that cut my cheeks and arms, tiny creeks of blood trailing across my skin. They tore at my eyelids, too, but instead of blood, I saw light. Light and beauty and sunshine, all as if for the first time.
I still hear his whispers now, but they are small and incoherent. I can see through his lies. Perhaps if the Evil Queen was told she could shatter her mirror, that it was the true enemy, she would not be remembered as evil. She would be written as the kind step-mother and Snow White would have no fairytale at all. Because I have done the same, once upon this time, in a land not so far away. A princess who shattered the mirror and saved herself. A princess who was her own villain and hero.
Sujana Vangala is a high school student from Atlanta. She takes inspiration from her overdue library books and the squirrel outside her window that hurls acorns at the glass. Her work can be found in her school literary magazine and in abandoned Google Docs.