The Mirror’s Deceit: A Reynolds of Betrayal
As the second period dwindled, two high school students, Amartya and Haaris, found themselves lost in the labyrinthine streets of an unfamiliar town: goal time. The lack of structure had their eyes wandering aimlessly, looking towards the window—more specifically to neighboring buildings. The buildings featured workers on the roof, quite a whimsical sight to the frivolous Amartya. Haaris eventually got tired of the windows and navigated to chess.com instead. At the window, entranced by their position on the roof, Amartya stared down the workers. Minutes had passed before an event noteworthy of the young lad befell him. From below the very building he had been so hyper fixated on, a man had walked out, making his way to the back portico. Although Amartya had seen all sorts of men in his lifetime, this one had piqued his interest in a way none had done before—a Ryan Reynolds look-alike: His hair was muddy-brown and ivy cut to perfection. His eyes had the same luminosity as a night in LA, and the features of his face were in perfect harmony. Despite the man's undeniable charm, even the-not-so bright Amartya could tell that there was something off about him. He resembled what one could imagine Ted Bundy looking like to his victims, seemingly charismatic and friendly, with something being out of place. Nonetheless, Amartya’s intrusive eyes could not stray away from him—like a moth to a flame, his curiosity was about to get him burned.
The man, perhaps sensing the fierce gaze of our young protagonist, shifted his own eyes to scan his surroundings. A stroke of misfortune, however, caused him to miss Amartya through the tinted windows of the school, so thinking he had evaded the attention of those nearby, disposed of “it” in the bushes.
“Bro that man just dropped a frickin’ arrow in the bushes.” Amartya’s declaration enveloped the room, making its way into the ears of Haaris. “Wait this is huge: banger newspaper article?” With this prime example of modern lingo, Haaris had connected his and Amartya’s mind to the same wavelength:Their newspaper articles were due next week, and with college apps and a moderate amount of anime watching, the duo had fallen behind on their deadlines. For them to not get dropped from the club, it would take a miracle, an arrow-shaped miracle, for them to recover from this. So, with a mix of boredom and desperation, the two scampered outside to where Amartya had sworn the arrow had been dropped.
What ended up greeting them was not, however, an arrow. In fact, they were at a loss for words regarding the amalgamation of scrap which resided in the hands of Amartya. One thing was for sure: Amartya, jumping at the idea of a story, had cut himself trying to pick the object off the floor, and now blood was secreting from his hands.
Unable to let go of the bizarre amalgamation of scrap, a sudden wave of unease washed over him. The object in his hand was unlike anything he had ever seen. Despite being metal, it felt warm—sickeningly, like a small rodent. He tried to let go, but his hand clung on to it, as if it had a mind of its own. The very moment the scrap made contact with the blood oozing from Amartya's wounded hand, the eerie transformation began. Amartya’s veins began to bulge out, as if they were trying to escape, and he could no longer support himself with his legs. As he collapsed to the floor, even keeping his eyes open required more energy than he had.
The most surprising event of all though, was the metamorphosis the poor lad began. His melanin was slowly lifted like a burnt layer of milk by the amalgamation of scrap; his cheeks were hollowing out, and even his obelisk black hair began to fade. Minutes passed while he laid there on the floor, and Haaris could not help but turn into a spectator in face of the contraptions' cruelty. Finally he showed some sign of life. By this time, his hair had turned wheat blonde, and his eyes had the same luminosity as a night in LA. The features of his face were in perfect harmony. And as his hand, still gripping on to the amalgamation scrap started to cut his hair, something about this Ryan Renold look-alike felt off.
