Dear Southlake Hospital,

I am writing to express my deepest gratitude to the entire staff for taking such great care of my family and I after we suffered an unfortunate case of mushroom poisoning.

Although the waiting time in Canadian hospitals can be long, the doctors and nurses in the emergency room did their best to accommodate all of the patients. 

The staff in pediatric ward where I was places all had a friendly disposition and were ready to answer any question. They made both my sister and I at ease and were solicitous and thoughtful. Our day nurse brought us movies to watch and games to play as well as arranged for us to meet our parents who were kept in a different ward. Little gestures such as taking the time to chat with us and offering us juice made our days in the hospital much more bearable.

The fact that my family and I are still here is a miracle. It had been a very difficult time for my family and I, but it could have been much more worse if it were not for the dedication and competence of the doctors and nurses.

My family and I will never forget what you've done for us. Thank you.

Bus Ride

The robotic voice of a woman announces the next stop.

People desperately clamber onto the overcrowded bus overflowing with body odor and body heat. They wiggle their way in, yelling at those in the back to "f****** move". The bus door closes and lurches forward only to stop again at the next station. More people get on then get off; the already limited space decreasing even more.

Snippets of other people's lives, their schools, jobs, friends swirl around in cramped area, the dissonance merging together into a vicious mixture that leaves me both drowsy and annoyed. The indistinct chatter slips in and out of my ear yet sets my teeth on edge. The elbows, backpacks and heads looming around me, stifles the atmosphere and makes my back shiver with heat. In my head, I count, I count the number of stops left before I can step out into the cool fresh air.

Great, another crowd of people is waiting next stop.

How many more people can this bus fit?

Geez, the bus driver should just stop letting people on.

My inner monologue rants on and on.

Finally, the bus approaches my stop, anticipation of getting off the musky, groaning bus urges me to smash my finger against the Stop button. Time ticks ever slower as I curse under my breath, at every car that cuts in front of us, the malicious pedestrians who walk across the street and the bane of my existence, the accursed red light.

I put my hands on the handle of the back door, having already fought my way there and the moment the bus halt, I'm outside, in the fresh breeze, able to breath once again, my annoyance instantly evaporates. The wider space instantly puts a vigor in my step and I bound for home.

Mirror, Mirror

Under florescent lights, I am Mirror. I am forged reflections made of glass and silver. I am the perpetual infinity of dimensions leading into another universe. A different world, another life. I am as hard as steel and as cold as ice. The wall is my body and I am its eyes. People see what they want to see while I give them what they truly see. I am the truth and the fake, I am honesty and deception. I am realism and idealism, portraying images through windows of perception. I do not flatter, since I am unforgiving. I am Mirror.

Under scrutinizing eyes, I am Reflection. I am the troubled soul you bottle up behind doors of perfection. I am everything you aspire to be and everything you yearn to reach. I am brutal and cruel, I display what you seek. I am the hidden fears who haunt you in your dreams and and the icy hand who muffles your screams. I am the apprehensive voice silently screaming in your mind. I am the monsters that hide under your bed; I am the monsters stuck in your head. I am Reflection.

I am your Saviour. I am the cause and the result of your reckless behaviour. I am the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I am golden sunshine if you are brave enough to enter the meadow. I am the person you are, stripped of the person you seem. I am the one who laughs, who smiles, who hurts, who cries. I am your twin, staring mutely back at you from across the wall. We are opposites yet no different at all. I am the one who smiles back at you and I am the one who is always there. I am your Saviour.

Who am I? Am I Mirror, Reflection or your Saviour too?

None, it seems, for I am you.

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star Variation