4 The key

Mom goes off, leaving me alone to my thoughts in my father's office as she shuts the door. Once again, the darkness surrounds me as I look at that mirror. For long I've wanted to see how it worked, how to operate the thing. Sometimes I daydream about stepping into it and going wherever it takes me. Father's journal says it was to become portal, but the only place it landed him was his grave. I've read through father's journal time after time, the old book looking like Dr. Frankenstein's with all the sketches and graphs. My father as smart, and drop-out from Harvard who just wanted to see the world. He had gotten bored of studying for pre-law and wanted to show the world his tricks.

Sometimes I think there's some chant to operate this thing, other time I think it's simple work of tools like a key or something.

Getting up, I walk towards the mirror once again. There a certain area that I always inspect, one with a small hole placed on the centre of the frame, surrounded by a small engraving of letters that look ancient. Whatever this is, I deduced long ago that it was some part of importance. Leaning my head against the mirror, I stare at a reflection of myself, the dark brown locks that hit my mid-back, a set of dull brown eyes, fair skin, and the image of a girl who has never know what family truly feel like. I know that when my father was still around, that my mother and he tried to be there for everything I did. From every ballet recital to every small T-ball game I did.

Closing my eyes, I let out a deep breath, pushing off the mirror as I take in the rest of the office. Just as father left it, his desk covered in his journal and two old pens from college, the curtains shut from the massive window, and item hr used in performances covered in sheets. My dad worked years on this mirror, letting the other gain dusk. I remember fractions of my childhood when he was around, how he would work through the night to spend time with me during the day, how he always smiled when he saw me. It's been so long that I only remember what he looks like through pictures, but that smile he had, I shall always remember that part of him.

As I take a sat back on the chair, I open his journal. Looking at the page as I flip the last page, I raise an eyebrow.

That's new. A small envelop, one with sliver ink upon the opening, one of the ancient writing my father would study. Frantically I open then envelop, finding it to be a bit heavier than a letter from someone. Tearing apart the envelope, I only raise an eyebrow as a brass and rusting key falls onto my lap.

What? How did this get here?

Mom was just in this journal this morning, coping down some pictures onto her own journal. She said she was going to take the journal with her. Taking the key, I walk up to the mirror, looking at the hole. I push the key at the hole, only for it to be jammed midway. Nope, not the key. Hell, anybody could see that this is not the key. This one looks like a house key while the hole in the mirror is circular. Way to go Jia.

Sighing, I shove the key into my pocket, looking back to the envelop, something is important about this key through, how mom had it isolated in an envelope in dad's journal. She needs this or something like that.