Mary Whitaker

The Silver Prison

The room was quiet, shut off from the rest of the house, muffling the cacophony of

snoring, gunshots, explosions, and obnoxious infomercial hosts. The room was dark, but one

small ray of light pierced the darkness, casting shadows that crawled along the floor and

slithered up the wall; they then crouched on the ceiling to wait eagerly for more of their shadow

kin. More rays collected together, permeating through gauzy curtains. Shadows danced along the

ceiling, greeting each other in the morning haze. I watched this. I was lying in bed, staring at the

ceiling, extremely entertained by the shadow ballet. But my buzzer rang, breaking the silence,

and the shadows jumped and scattered. I was alone.

I stood by my door, dreading the noise that awaited me on the other side. I reached for

the cold door handle and, through my peripherals, I saw a monstrous figure looming to my right

side, extending a cracked and splotched claw towards me. I turned but in front of me was a girl

with atrocious bed-head, looking perplexed and some what frightened. So I walked out of my

room into the noisy world. I did not look back, but behind me I could feel movement, as if the

monster was stepping out of its silvery prison.

Around 4:00, the fog covering the ocean oozed itself over the hill and enveloped the

neighborhood in grey. A girl who was walking home with me saw the fog appear, and

commented on the sudden weather shift.

“Wow!” she exclaimed, “It’s thicker than pea soup”.

“Nice use of cliché”, I said in a semi-sarcastic tone.

She narrowed her eyes at me and then turned, changing face. “I can barely see that stop

sign.” She pointed. In front of her, about 20 feet away, was a stop sign with an Inn n’ Out sticker

slapped on the front, above the white-lettered command. However, we could not see the sign or

the sticker, but we knew it was there from passing it numerous times. The fog was thick, just like

pea soup: murky and dense. The girl’s long arm was disappearing in the murk, her hand replaced

The girl looked at me, hand on her stomach and said, “I’m so hungry! Are you hungry?”

“No, I plan on going home and waiting until dinner to eat.”

She walked ahead of me, into the fog. “Oh, ok… I’ll see you tomorrow at school. I’m

going to go buy a burger. You can come along if you want”.

“That’s ok. I’m going home.”

I watched her disappear into the fog. I was alone, standing isolated from the world in

a small grey room, a silent grey room. Then a deep growl reverberated around me. I turned

full circle, searching for the source, but could only see grey. I yelled into the fog, towards the

invisible girl. “Your stomach is really loud!” There was silence.

I was in my room, looking at my reflection in the mirror. I stood, staring, traveling across

my face, examining every detail: my nose, my eyes, my cheeks, ears, and mouth, all of my

features, plain, neither pretty nor ugly, just plain. I stood there for a millennium, lost in a glassy

world. I did not notice the figure behind my reflection, hiding half of its deformed face. I broke

my stare, and saw her. Her skin was hanging loosely, connected directly to bone by an intricate

web of tendons. Every bone stuck out and when she moved toward me, her bones punctured

the skin like a dagger through leather hide. I turned around to face the being directly. I reached

out my hand and she took it. The fingers were brittle, breakable, and the skin on the hand was

swollen and yellowish. I looked into her thin face, a strangely familiar face and said, “You’re

beautiful”. She smiled. The smile was weak; every face muscle was straining to maintain the

The fog lifted from the hills and light flooded into the room. She began to fade and I was

left standing alone, looking out my window at the rising fog. Light diminished and darkness

encircled my room, stalking its prey. It was dark and I was alone, but not completely alone; I had

her, my monster, my ideal reflection.