*Un-named.*

Reflections

I stand alone in the dusty room. The only thing in here with me is the reflection staring back at me, stuck inside of the full length mirror. She isn't smart. She isn't pretty. She is just average. Average height. Average skin. She has caramel brown eyes, and brown hair, tied back into an average pony tail. She wears a blue shirt and moderate length jean shorts. I hate her, but the problem is, she is me.

I fall back onto my twin bed, which rocks and creaks slightly with age as my weight falls onto it. I sit comfortably on the cushiony quilt my mom made for it.

This is my room. It's up in the attic. It's not much. The floors are old wood, and the walls and ceilings are painted white, with slight cracking at the paint. I have a small dresser to the right of my bed, of course, antique, and old wood. It contains my other average clothing, and a couple books, as well as glasses reside on its top. There is a couple random posters on the wall of movies I enjoy, as well as some film festival winners.

My camera seems to stare at me from its place on the floor, by the mirror. I haven't touched it in a week, not since the accident. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wonder why I didn't die that night. There is nothing special about me. Why save me? Who saved me? Was it God? I shake my head and walk over to the camera, picking up the object, blowing the dust off of it.

It is a canon EOS rebel T3. The most expensive gift my dad has ever bought me. I know that if I don't use it soon, my parents will notice something is wrong.

It didn't take me long to come up with a lie. I left my bike in the road, and a car hit it. Miraculously the driver didn't notice, and I was able to reclaim my bike without issue. Of course, they had a hard time believing at first, but what else did they have to believe? No angry human was at their door trying to sue. Why shouldn't they believe me?

Of course, I was grounded for a week for being out past bed time. Which I didn't mind anyways, I needed the time to myself. A perfect excuse to get away.

Now that week is over, and I have to get back to real life. Or, whatever this life I've been living is. I crouch down and open the hatch which is my door, carefully climbing my way down the stairs under it. Each step screams under my feet, the old wood being more creaky than my bed.

I nearly drop my camera as I hear mother shouting down stairs. I've only ever heard my mother shout twice in my entire life. I very, VERY quietly take a few steps back, setting my camera down beside me to watch the scene happening below.

"If you can't get this under control Jonathan," " Then...I don't know. It's a bad example to your son, and your daughter. You need to do something about it," her eyes hold a certain fury I've never seen before, (and trust me, I've seen fury in them) but her voice has grown quieter. "Now."

Very motivating speech mom, I think sarcastically.

She looks so much like me. Long, silky brown hair, and warm brown eyes that could melt, or burn. She wears a blue dress shirt, and a pretty black skirt. A gold necklace sits around her neck. One that dad bought her.

My dad on the other hand, looks nothing like me. Scraggly blonde hair, piercing, but inspiring blue eyes. He has on a messy white band tee shirt, and jeans. His sneakers look like something a child would wear. He runs a hand through his hair, he's stressed.

"It won't happen again," his eyes are intense, serious, looking right through the flame in mom's eyes. There is also a certain timid nature in them, as well, but he courageously continues looking. "I gained control of that years ago."

To be honest, I don't think he could be doing too bad, considering I have no clue as to what they are talking about.

Mom grabs her purse from the table, nods sarcastically at dad, then walks out the door, slamming it behind her. I'm surprised it didn't fall right off its hinges. She's leaving to go to work, in a very dramatic manner at that.

Now I'm left with only a dozen questions. Here's to the start of a great Monday.