Introducing HCS

 I can see my reflection in the mirror. Well, obviously--I can’t break the laws of physics. That would be weird.

But I can also see what’s within me.

A past me loved to listen to Beach Boys in a Volvo convertible. A past me idolized Malala Yousafzai and Susan B. Anthony. A past me prided herself on her eagerness to begin. A past me wanted to be perfect, and the present me wants that, too.

I can see a bobbing red heart, a metallic biped with a black velvet top hat, a little inky devil, a self-aware high-schooler.

I can see logos flashing across my vision, ones of creators I adore and look up to. A nostalgia-inducing cat, a pink mustache, an eye infected, a pixelated look-alike.

I can see towering robotic aliens. I can see a cute, fuzzy yellow animal with a jagged tail. I can see a lightning bolt scar. I can see a newcomer to the mask web-slinging across my vision. I can see animated creatures and people of all backgrounds. 

I can see magic-wielders, impossible marvels becoming actuality with new technology, fragrant romances blossoming, broken worlds rising, even that which is real spilling out in front of me.

I can see me.

I take a breath in, reach out, and touch the me I see.

The gentle press of my fingertip shatters the mirror, shards scattering within the empty black behind it.

I make to step forward, then hesitate. What am I to find there? Behind me? Will I fear it? Will I wish I had never found such a curious, deadly place?

Though if I am brave enough to take the first step, I must be brave enough to take another.

I mind the step and set one foot on the opposite side of the golden, ornate frame. The other follows it.

I can see nothing but the black: the endless, yet not dark, void. Still I go forward, pieces of mirror crunching underneath my shoes.

I hold my breath as each step pulls me in, towards an end. There must be an end. There’s always an end.

Faces blurred into vision, stepping from the dark edges--those I had seen before. They appeared one by one on my sides. Each individual showed their care for me as they waved, smiled, tipped their hats. Hundreds were soon surrounding me, a cheering mass of positivity and love, and they were kind enough to leave a gap.

I could not help my smile as I walked among them, nodding and saluting to my favorites: characters of all species, types, styles, eras, or other distinguishing qualities littered the crowds. My fandoms, my memories, my loves—they were all here for me. They always would be, no matter what hardships I faced.

In the distance, a light glowed from an open doorway. They hushed, watching me tread the path they laid down for me and tilt my head as I examined it. What was it? As my footsteps brought me closer, my confusion only increased. The light was pure and white, emanating from the unknown source. A door had been swung open, carved of wood and with a brass handle.

They spoke disjointedly, as groups tended to do, but I could hear what they were trying to communicate to me: “It leads to the Other Side.”

What is the Other Side, I asked them, and they looked at one another, murmuring as they seemed to debate on what to tell me. A younger, more blue-eyed version of me finally spoke up with her tiny voice, clutching a precious toy bear in one hand and our mother’s with the other. “It’s the place we find our peace, big me.”

Find our peace, I replied, looking at the others for a deeper answer. They all seemed to agree with her, unable to dig up better words for me.

Still, I looked back at the door. Peace was waiting for me.

I took my cue and, with a forlorn look back at the best parts of me, walked into the light.

I opened my eyes. A field--a wide, grassy field, ringed by trees on the far edges--stretched out before me. It looked like rain would come in a while: light gray clouds were rolling in from a distant horizon.

Another version of me was sitting on a bench, which was on top of a slab of concrete and covered by a metal overhang. It looked like a bus stop in the middle of nowhere, but the girl on the bench paid no attention to the oddity she was a part of. She was young, much younger than the other versions I had seen: she couldn’t be older than five. Still that bear toy was in her arms, the familiar one that made me smile. Her hair was golden, mine from a time long ago, and she was dressed in a white dress I only faintly recognized.

The flicker of memory made her shift, and she looked over at me with startling blue eyes, mine once upon a time. “Hello,” she said. “Would you like to sit and watch the rain with me?”

How do you know it’s going to rain soon, I questioned her.

“I just know. Sit with me.”

I obeyed. Just as I ducked under the cover it began to sprinkle, and as I sat, it turned into a downpour. We watched for a while, the two of us--the millions of droplets falling from the darkened (though not too dark) sky into the soil, tracing down the sides of the overhead. The patter was rhythmic and lulling, and I was tempted to fall asleep there, on that wooden bench, in the middle of a field.

“My name is Peace,” the girl told me, stroking the soft plush in her lap. “You have been seeking me for some time now, yes?”

Hesitantly, I replied. Yes. I have been looking for you for years. Why is it that now I am with you, Peace? Why is it now that I have serenity?

“You saw yourself in the mirror. You came to me as you are, and I accepted you.”

Have I not been worthy before?

“You were. You just hadn’t believed it.”

Her words rendered me silent. We went back to watching the rain, which beat down endlessly. I don’t know how long we lasted, but I do know that Peace was soon asleep on my arm. Listening to the drumming on the tin roof, I couldn’t help but smile as my mind escaped to my dreams.