Too Good To Be True

By Neima Nour

I lay down on my broken, rusted bed next to the shattered, old window. I stared out, gazing and thinking about the sea and all the beautiful fish and rocks, wishing I was one too. I felt envy for a tiny thing that did not live very long but had a very good life. 

“Cece, come down and clean the floor, you lazy maid. Don't make me come up there!” Ms. Habod screamed. I came quickly. My mother was in the middle of a huge and luscious garden, fixing the flowers that Ms. Habod told her to fix.

The door creaked open and Mr. Habod entered the house. Ms. Habod greeted him just as their daughter Violet came down the stairs. She looked at me and yelled, “Where is my smoothie, you bratty maid?!” 

Her words were like a dart, cutting through the peaceful air on a calm day. I felt the thunder strike, mercilessly crashing and making a hole in my boat. My feelings surged out, creating an enormous pile of emotions that sinks to the depths of the ocean, never to be heard again.

I hurried into the kitchen and made the smoothie as fast as I could, but her words still stung like a needle in me. When I was done, I handed it to her as quickly as I could. As I left her room, I saw Ms. Habod’s son, Alex. His eyes were like beautiful diamonds and his voice would make a hummingbird jealous. His heart, as pure as the wind, sailed across the sea and into the cracks of my heart. 

Just then, he came up to me. “Is there something wrong?” he asked in his sad and soft voice. 

“Of course not,” I answered in my less than confident voice and walked away. I went to my room in the attic and lay on the bed, wondering how I was so stupid. I could have told him what was wrong, as it seemed he just wanted to know how I was. I went to bed crying that night, thinking about the boy and my miserable, poor life. 

Later that night, I woke to the sound of ringing in my ears and I looked out. There was a little girl outside standing in the garden where my mother had once been. She was touching the beautiful flowers that rotted in despair. I went down the stairs of the house to check out what was going on. The sound of the ringing was getting louder and louder. I felt something creep up my shoulder. Then the door opened and a girl with a black cape came in. Her face had two sides. One side was wrinkled with a red eye. The other side was young and lush. When I saw her face, I remembered the story my mother had told me about the white devil. 

The story goes like this: There was a woman who lived in a cave with a daughter. The daughter used to sing songs that would keep the woman calm and young. One day, the daughter disappeared and the old woman became pale and old. She was known as the white devil because she tried to steal children to make her young again. Her deals never stopped. 

I returned to my room and sat myself down on my broken rusted bed and felt terrified. The devil came to me and said, “How would you like to make a deal? You look pretty smart for your age. l will grant you wishes in exchange for your body and soul.” 

I thought to myself, with a wish, I could have a better life. I thought about my horrible life. Or I could work hard and change my life physically, emotionally, and financially. In my state, I doubted working hard would do me any good. So I agreed to make the deal. 

The devil said, “Are you sure I'm pretty?” 

I replied, “No!“ Suddenly I knew I didn’t want to make a deal. I wanted to live, work hard, and have a chance at a better life. I closed my eyes deeply. 

 I realized that I was back in my room on my small, rusted broken bed. My bedroom was as dark as my old home. As I turned to the moon, I saw an old, rusty, mirror next to me. It got dark and the half-faced girl reappeared. I realized that it was the same face from that day. As there was a knock on the door, the mirror cracked in silent blurs and shattered to the ground. 

Then Violet walked in.

 

The ELM

VT

YWP Instructor

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