Creation

The story of this man and his daughter was intriguing me. It was all about love, but also pain. It made me think of Leana and my baby boy because they were the main things now missing by my side. Of course there was also the band, the friends I’ve made and the fans as well, but not having Leana here and not knowing how to go back and see her again was killing me slowly. These thoughts, along with the sensitive description I am reading, make my eyes flood with tears as my heartbeat seems to fade away in my chest. I must keep reading to avoid this salt that’s already crawling down my face.

I stood there without reaction. I didn’t know what to do. There was nothing I could do. Niamh would wake up in the morning to thousands of pieces on the carpet. There was no longer a mirror in that room, just a memory.

Days passed by and I still didn’t know what to do.

I was always by Niamh’s side, since the first day my father decided to make her work for him, as a slave. She should do everything he told her – she just obeyed him because it would let her fall into her own world of mourning. I could tell by her face that she was missing me terribly, and I was always tormented by the inability of showing myself to her.

She had me back in her dreams, but they were worthless to calm her down because whenever she woke up, she would feel alone again and would be a slave again. It was making me feel miserable, since I couldn’t do anything to make her happy. The only one who could do something was my father, who actually was with her everyday, but instead of helping her in her grief, he just turned her life into a bigger Hell… oh poor baby of mine.

I didn’t just watch it though, I sure had to try something. So I started to haunt my father, because humans can’t see us spectrums but whatever we do in their world would be noticeable. I wrote menaces down his private mirror, I banged the walls to his room all over the night, I pulled noisily his room furniture, I pretended to enter his bed when we was about to fall asleep only to scare him, but it was ineffective. Nothing really harmed him and I can’t explain why…

One day I accidentally found a notebook with spells. I didn’t know from where it came but it sure was interesting. I didn’t take too much time to find one spell to make our material wishes come true. Finally I could do something special…

I found Niamh sleeping one night, and she was slightly smiling in her dream. I said the spell within my mind, as it focused on the mirror I had broken, which pieces my daughter still kept all over the floor. It must have been an important object to her so I decided it would be good for her to have a new mirror. As I finished the saying, the mirror start to re-live all by itself, and my face was covered with a big smile.

In the morning, I say my daughter’s eyes brighten at the vision of her new mirror. Tears appeared in her eyes as she touched it to know that it was there again. The thousands of pieces were still on the floor; I had left them there so that she could do what she wanted with them. I smiled at her peaceful face when she looked herself in the mirror and I melted on the inside when she decided to keep the broken pieces – to still have her parents’ memory.

Her peace and happiness though were interrupted any time by my father calling her to do something. She cooked, she cleaned, she did laundry, she washed the floor, she served him in his bed; she let herself be insulted, psychological and sometimes mentally hurt, cursed, ashamed, dishonored. My Niamh was a useless doll in my father’s hands.

All that time she cried, praying for me to go back as she stood in front of the mirror, probably thinking that she’d see me there. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that… it made me sad.

However, my daughter’s life had some good things. First of all, the mirror: I think she feels that I re-built the mirror for her. Then, she loved to write stories. They were her secret world of perfection and I know she was happy when she was writing them, but as usual my father ruined it all. He, for no reason, gained the habit of coming to her room and burning her precious things. I tried to haunt him over and over again, but he seemed immune to my actions. I actually cried my incorporeity out.

Niamh’s heart was broken from all the losses she had in her life, but there was a small spot of light inside of her. Its source was this Musician that she admired a lot. I don’t know how she found about him and how she knew everything new about him and his band – I guess she did her own research as I watched and tried to haunt my own father.

Her years of slavery were fulfilled with pain, tears but also love – an unexplainable feeling for that Musician. I know his name was James, I heard her whisper it sometimes, but I know nothing more about him. I just see her admiring him with all her strength and I guess he is the reason why she’s making it through the days. I think he’s the reason why she survives my father’s cruelty.

Seven years after I died, seven years with both pain and beauty, my father died too. He had been really sick for the last two years and Niamh had taken care of him. She was so nice to him, even after all the atrocities he had done to her. My daughter was all love!

She might felt relieved for my father to die, but she would still cry anyway – she felt lonely. She had always had something to hold back and stay strong, but now she was all by herself and nothing but her flying imagination and thoughts could save her. So she felt lonely… and cried.

One day, I was watching her writing something on a piece of paper. It probably was one of those stories that she likes to write a lot, but her face didn’t show me that though. Niamh looked tired and really sad, she was devastated. Only from her eyes I could say that she was broken. Broken for being alone in a huge mansion where even the most experienced traveler can get lost, broken for being alone in a world that has only showed pain and sorrow over the last seven years. She probably didn’t know what a smile makes people feel…

She was sitting at her desk, writing something with her mind totally consumed by her thoughts. She was writing slowly, doubtless choosing her words really carefully in order to have a perfect result. She looked very sad, truly lonely and broken apart, as one tear fell down her left cheek. I was in front of her, staring at her writing figure, and my heart was the size of a grape with so much sorrow for my daughter.

When she finished, one page fulfilled with a magnificent handwriting, she put the letter and an envelope on the desk and began walking backwards. I don’t know what was going on inside that little mind of her own, but I know that she didn’t look good. I wanted to hold her in my arms and make her feel safe once again, but I guess I could only stay there and watch. There were no spells to bring dead people back to life in that book, and I knew that seeing her like that was Fate.

She kept walking backwards as the wind smashes the window furiously. It made me jump and I can see that it also made my Niamh upset. She looked scared and gave her final step back, before stepping over the little pieces of the mirror that had been broken by my fist so many years before. She looked scared, terrified, but she didn’t move, knowing that it would make her cuts worse. Her hand fumbled to the mirror that I had spelled back on** and she smiled, looking at something that she saw inside the mirror. She soon was gone. My eyes were wide open as Niamh kept disappearing into the mirror. She said nothing, she couldn’t speak at all, but her face no more showed fear or pain. She was pleased with whatever she was seeing in the mirror, and she let it consume her fragile form.

Now it was my turn to get scared. What has she seen in that mirror that made her so happy of being swallowed by its surface? I didn’t know, and I could never know, and now I was looking at that crystal polished surface but saw nothing. It was empty. It was gloomy though, and Niamh’s moving figure was appearing now, and suddenly my mind had a flash.

I grabbed the spell book again and I knew what I was looking for, I just needed to find the right page. My hands were traveling at sound speed through the flying pages of the notebook, and suddenly I stopped at what I wanted.

Spell #333: Creation.

It said that it would bring to life whoever we pictured in our minds, as reading the Latin words of the spell. It sounded perfect for my Niamh. I knew who’d be in my mind as soon as I started whispering those strange words which meaning I ignore. Though I knew that they would do their magic once I finished the sentence… I knew that they would create perfect clones of the person in my mind.

I dropped the book, it was still opened, in my lap.

A CLONE?!

** I know that the verb ‘to spell’ means (and I quote the dictionary LOL) ‘to name or write the letters of a word in their correct order; to form words when put together in a particular order’ and ETC, but here I used it as though meaning ‘to cast a spell’. I just wanted to make it clear for everyone =)