Sequel: Twisted Returns ›
Status: Complete - 71,220 words
Shattering Crystals
perfect face, flawless body
I climb up the grassy hill, getting closer to the lake. As soon as I can see the sparkles of the water, my eyes involuntarily search the shore. My lips curl up into a smile as I spot the tall figure I was looking for. He stands up and holds out his arms, his smile mirroring my own. I rush into them and reach into my pocket, my thin fingers closing around a thin chain. I hold it out to him. On the chain dangles a glowing pendant.
"This will let you do magic too. I hope it makes you happy."
"I don't need this. You're the one who makes me happy, Diana. I love you."
----
I open my eyes and squint into the sunlight. A beautiful morning, after the storm. The first thing I do is check my phone, hoping for a “good morning” message from a certain someone. But there isn’t.
I don’t let myself get too disappointed though. It is a bit early. Instead I let my mind float over the vivid dream I had last night, but it leaves me wondering. Who was that guy, and why did he mean so much to me? Surely he was Jesse. Then it would all make sense.
A sudden wave of sleepiness washes over me, and I find myself drifting back into unconsciousness…
----
I inhale the cool air, calming myself in the sea of screaming people. Flashes go off everywhere as they snap a photo to remember these moments.
"Three... two... one!"
I duck my head, hoping not to get in the Asian girls' picture. But I'm too late, and they will have me in the background of their photo. A permanent reminder that they will never be as beautiful as me.
----
I blink slowly, waking up again. The dream is still fresh in my mind. But it feels like more than just a dream. It feels… real. The setting seems familiar, as if I have seen it before.
I remember the cold air, contrasted against the warmth of bodies pressing together. The dream is so clear, so sharp. It must have been a memory.
But no where in my mind can I find this memory. It was in a place foreign to me, and I have never liked crowds much anyways. Except for at parties.
Once the word “party’ floats into my mind, I instantly grit my teeth. The memories of yesterday come back into my mind, sharp and stabbing. I sit up and check my phone again, hoping for a “good morning” or “we can reschedule the party for today!” But there’s nothing. Figures.
That brings me back to that freak storm. It showed up out of no where – no one predicted it. And it all had something to do with that mysterious voice. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. But it was too much of a coincidence.
I close my eyes, trying to figure everything out. The dream drifts back into my mind. The picture is clear. And that’s when I notice the New Year’s Ball.
----
“Mom?” I say, running downstairs in my pajamas. She flinches a bit, as I had made no sound coming down the stairs.
”Yes?”
“Do you remember when you went to Times Square?”
“Yes, for New Year’s. How could I forget?” She has a slight Asian accent, setting her up for many bad imitations of her speech from my friends. Not that she knows. I can’t imagine her without it, though.
“Do you still have the pictures from it?”
“In the cabinet, in either the blue album or the one with the flower on it. Why?”
“Just curious,” I say. I go to the old wooden cabinet and pull it open. I grab the blue, dust covered album and plop down on the leather couch, hoping that it’s the one I’m looking for. With my mother being a journalist, she travels to many places. I do miss her when she leaves, but she always comes back with something for me. And a lot of pictures.
I guessed correctly. The pictures of Times Square are in the back of the album. They are from nearly seventeen years ago, before I was born. My mother had gone with her sister, my aunt. There are only a few pictures.
Most of them are blurry shots of the Ball. A few are actually of her. But as far as I can tell, this is exactly the place that I had dreamed of.
Then I see it. In one of the pictures – a picture of the sisters smiling like idiots – is a girl. Her expression is not unpleasant, but I can tell that she’s trying to be inconspicuous. And totally failing.
With her long blue-black hair, she was anything but. It falls past her waist, possibly continuing on to her knees. The picture cuts off there, though. Her face also doesn’t help. Though she is a bit pale for today’s standards, her delicate features make up for it. There’s something about her face that pulls you in, and you know that you could look at her forever and never get tired of it. She looks like a supermodel. No, she looks like a goddess.
That’s you.
The voice is back again, but it barely registers as my brain too focused on this girl’s beauty.
You, in your past life. Diana Crystal.
And now things are getting a bit creepy. These coincidences don’t just seem like coincidences anymore. Something is definitely going on. I stare harder at the picture, as if trying to get some other meaning out of it.
Then it strikes me – though I have seen this picture before, when I was younger, I never really noticed anything but my mom and my aunt. I have never noticed this girl. But I feel as if I know her, know her expressions. I know what she looks like when she’s happy, when she’s sad. And I have never met her.
Something is off though. The face feels… flipped. Like a mirror image. I don’t know how I can tell, since the features are all symmetrical and… perfect. But then I see the part in the shiny hair, and something tells me it should be on the other side.
You. That could be you.
That could be me. I could have it. The perfect face, flawless body. I can feel the desire coursing through my veins.
You. That’s who you will be.
"This will let you do magic too. I hope it makes you happy."
"I don't need this. You're the one who makes me happy, Diana. I love you."
----
I open my eyes and squint into the sunlight. A beautiful morning, after the storm. The first thing I do is check my phone, hoping for a “good morning” message from a certain someone. But there isn’t.
I don’t let myself get too disappointed though. It is a bit early. Instead I let my mind float over the vivid dream I had last night, but it leaves me wondering. Who was that guy, and why did he mean so much to me? Surely he was Jesse. Then it would all make sense.
A sudden wave of sleepiness washes over me, and I find myself drifting back into unconsciousness…
----
I inhale the cool air, calming myself in the sea of screaming people. Flashes go off everywhere as they snap a photo to remember these moments.
"Three... two... one!"
I duck my head, hoping not to get in the Asian girls' picture. But I'm too late, and they will have me in the background of their photo. A permanent reminder that they will never be as beautiful as me.
----
I blink slowly, waking up again. The dream is still fresh in my mind. But it feels like more than just a dream. It feels… real. The setting seems familiar, as if I have seen it before.
I remember the cold air, contrasted against the warmth of bodies pressing together. The dream is so clear, so sharp. It must have been a memory.
But no where in my mind can I find this memory. It was in a place foreign to me, and I have never liked crowds much anyways. Except for at parties.
Once the word “party’ floats into my mind, I instantly grit my teeth. The memories of yesterday come back into my mind, sharp and stabbing. I sit up and check my phone again, hoping for a “good morning” or “we can reschedule the party for today!” But there’s nothing. Figures.
That brings me back to that freak storm. It showed up out of no where – no one predicted it. And it all had something to do with that mysterious voice. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. But it was too much of a coincidence.
I close my eyes, trying to figure everything out. The dream drifts back into my mind. The picture is clear. And that’s when I notice the New Year’s Ball.
----
“Mom?” I say, running downstairs in my pajamas. She flinches a bit, as I had made no sound coming down the stairs.
”Yes?”
“Do you remember when you went to Times Square?”
“Yes, for New Year’s. How could I forget?” She has a slight Asian accent, setting her up for many bad imitations of her speech from my friends. Not that she knows. I can’t imagine her without it, though.
“Do you still have the pictures from it?”
“In the cabinet, in either the blue album or the one with the flower on it. Why?”
“Just curious,” I say. I go to the old wooden cabinet and pull it open. I grab the blue, dust covered album and plop down on the leather couch, hoping that it’s the one I’m looking for. With my mother being a journalist, she travels to many places. I do miss her when she leaves, but she always comes back with something for me. And a lot of pictures.
I guessed correctly. The pictures of Times Square are in the back of the album. They are from nearly seventeen years ago, before I was born. My mother had gone with her sister, my aunt. There are only a few pictures.
Most of them are blurry shots of the Ball. A few are actually of her. But as far as I can tell, this is exactly the place that I had dreamed of.
Then I see it. In one of the pictures – a picture of the sisters smiling like idiots – is a girl. Her expression is not unpleasant, but I can tell that she’s trying to be inconspicuous. And totally failing.
With her long blue-black hair, she was anything but. It falls past her waist, possibly continuing on to her knees. The picture cuts off there, though. Her face also doesn’t help. Though she is a bit pale for today’s standards, her delicate features make up for it. There’s something about her face that pulls you in, and you know that you could look at her forever and never get tired of it. She looks like a supermodel. No, she looks like a goddess.
That’s you.
The voice is back again, but it barely registers as my brain too focused on this girl’s beauty.
You, in your past life. Diana Crystal.
And now things are getting a bit creepy. These coincidences don’t just seem like coincidences anymore. Something is definitely going on. I stare harder at the picture, as if trying to get some other meaning out of it.
Then it strikes me – though I have seen this picture before, when I was younger, I never really noticed anything but my mom and my aunt. I have never noticed this girl. But I feel as if I know her, know her expressions. I know what she looks like when she’s happy, when she’s sad. And I have never met her.
Something is off though. The face feels… flipped. Like a mirror image. I don’t know how I can tell, since the features are all symmetrical and… perfect. But then I see the part in the shiny hair, and something tells me it should be on the other side.
You. That could be you.
That could be me. I could have it. The perfect face, flawless body. I can feel the desire coursing through my veins.
You. That’s who you will be.