The Barrier

The barrier is whole. 

It was simply always there. Accepted, respected, and always deemed to be yet another fact of reality. 

Invisible, subtle, transparent, it neither strives nor intends to protect or defend.

Just another window, just another wall. 

[...]

For once, the Creator deems that despite the infinity that is possessed within the small world, it's not enough. Create something here, twist something there, the freedom is lacking and far too raw. The potential is unending. The imagination is raw, dynamic, and yet not quite enough. The sword is sharp and keen. The pen does not err in its ink. But the reality is kind, giving, and complaisant.

Nothing to rebel against,

Nothing to resist,

Nothing to challenge, oppose, or defy. 

For once, liberty is a wall.

[...]

Just another window, just another wall. 

The Visitor

The frost dances a trail of ice along the edge of the fine crystal glass, as snow swirls in looping lazed circles in a waltz, white and pure, without regrets.

'Snow.'

Inside sits a lonely person, plaintive and still, leaning against the window, fingers pressed against the imaginary cold.

Outside wanders the invisible, a visitor; wandering and seeing and yet leaving untouched, the visitor meanders into the center of the singing winds and festive dance as ice and snow pair by pair whirl about to an ever increasing beat.

The visitor reaches a house, of simple red brick building, bright and still against the outside blinding white, as a sense of warmth chills the heart, and then, the climax of silence is deafening as wind billows and a feverish frolic of prancing and leaps ensues of snow and ice despite the wretched cold.

Forlorn and empty are the eyes, the visitor still unseen, though piercing blue and wistful. The world inside is pleasant and empty, silent despite the stark cold;

The visitor steps away parting the words, re-entering their own reality; 

The blue eyes start, widening in wondering; a feather floats before the snow, unending. 

A single pane

A masked reflection stares back, something unknown from beyond; trespassing is not forgiven.

The barrier still remains.

The road winds to an end, its gravel giving way to a footstep trodden path, small and narrow that leads deep within the rustling forest that is ahead. Each determined step silences another sound - first the chirps, then the singing, and even the leaves freeze despite the growing snarling wind. From day to twilight to dusk the sky becomes, the light forever waning, the cold sets in as the wind bites, each step now unseen as the stars remain hidden behind the creeping shadows.

With fingers clenched tight against the cold, the chin still held unwavering, the hooded figure walks on-wards on the narrow trodden track.

Each step is slow and measured, undaunted in their journey, though the darkness thickens, suffocating. The stars watch on in silence; the sliver of the moon beckons none.

The wind howls -  an inhuman scream.

The journey's end lies ahead - unseen in the dark.

A dark shadow can be seen - light bids forward from the center.

A rush of footsteps, fingers pressed against the single glass - eyes widen in grief -

You see them,

They see themselves. 

The one-way path of the looking glass.

The Mirror

Gazing into the polished silver framed mirror, a very familiar person stares back.
They at first glance at the reflection, eyebrows raising with a familiar feeling of surprise, before the eyes soften and the glance becomes a gaze, which soon becomes a look of concentration and criticism. The eyes narrow as they seek out and curse at every single thing that's wrong, and then in a rage of fury -

The mirror cracks.
Shatters.
...the lights of a thousand tiny stars...

Everything is silent.
Empty.

The guilty at first shies away, before lifting the head - just a bit - afraid. The barrier is not meant to be broken.

There's another way.
A gust of wind - feathers float - an empty room.

The mask we don...
...reflected in the unbroken mirror...