Friday, January 4, 2013

5. Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence

Write about the reflection of the room you see in shiny Christmas ornaments.


I lie on my back under the tree, gazing up at the different spherical ornaments. In one to my left, Santa's face reflects against the smooth silver, the red of his cheeks and nose clear in the light, his eyes squinted from the large smile he's giving the ornament. The reflection dips down, making him seem slimmer than he's portrayed in his own porcelain form. In his hands are a purple and red present, more a rectangle than a square against the silver. I turn my head to the right, and my movement makes a few green needles fall onto my cheek. I leave them, liking the light tickle they give my skin. I look at the blue sphere to my right, at the angel reflected in it. Her arms are outstretched wide, but her eyes are slits, which make her seem tired. I decide to leave her be and look straight up at the other silver sphere just above my head. It reflects the pale olive green of my living room walls. On the right of it, I can see the dim orange glow of the fire burning in its place. A cream spreads at the bottom of the sphere, the same cream of the carpet under my back. Two rods of blue lay against the cream; my jean-covered legs. A lighter cream shape rests beside one blue rod. But the dog stirs against my leg, and I blink at the ornament in confusion until another form leaned in toward the silver thing, its eyes a glowing blue-green.
"It's time for dinner, Liz," my sister states simply.

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