Fragments Gallery
Reflections: Mysteries
It has been an eon since last I wrote in this journal. I have, of course, continued to see but my time has been limited. I no longer have the time to sit and watch as I once did. So much has changed since I last flipped through these pages. So much, yet so little.
Even now my time is limited so I will keep this record short.
I’m in an old pub taking a rare moment to slow down and take a breath. It’s an older pub, Irish decor and theme. Nothing special but I like it here. It’s a good place to wind down. Around St. Patrick’s day... well let’s just say it gets rowdy.
I’m off topic again, let’s refocus.
I was staring across the floor at the crackling flames that adorned the southern wall of the establishment when something... peculiar happened. A panel by a column in the center of the room rose from the floor. From the darkness beneath a young man cautiously peered; he seemed skittish.
I was confused for a moment, could no one else see this? Even the table immediately to the side of the panel ignored the man’s strange appearance. It wasn’t until a server walked across the open hole that I realized what I saw wasn’t real, but a reflection. Needless to say, it piqued my interest and at that point, I pulled out my journal- this journal.
Since I started writing the young man has not moved, he remains motionless as he surveys the room.
Not for the first time and for sure not the last I wish I had a little more context with these reflections. The rest of the room looks normal, so the part of the reflection that he watches so intently is invisible to me.
It can be maddening to not know the full story.
I will focus on what I can see. The young man wears a tweed hat atop of curly ginger hair. His jacket is burlap, maybe it was once the height of fashion but now it is torn and dirty. The grimy shirt beneath the jacket showed above the buttons and the arms of the jacket weren’t long enough to cover the ratty white sleeves.
A server stops at a table between us and I impatiently wait for her to move; these reflections didn’t tend to last long.
Once I could see again the scene had changed. Another face had appeared. This one was a young girl, maybe a sister? She clung to the young man’s arm, hiding behind his sleeve. Her hair is also ginger but straight, her dress and coat are streaked with dirt.
The man’s eyes abruptly widen and he swiftly lowers the panel back into place. The area now seems perfectly normal, the panel blends into the surrounding floor perfectly. That is, it blends in perfectly if it still exists.
I have stared at that panel for a while but now I must conclude that it’s over. What had I just seen?
Why were they hiding under there? Who had seen them? Do the owners of this place even know that hole exists? After all of these years does it still exist?
I doubt I’ll ever have the answers that I seek. Those events are lost in time.
Unfortunately I have to get going, otherwise, I would sit for a while longer and wonder.