Beware The Reflections

A short little story I came up with in a few minutes.

Little Samuel Henriksson, aged 6, smiled down at his reflection in the pond. He enjoyed his reflection. It was... Nice. It let him see what he looked like, just like a mirror. He especially liked how his Junior Astronaut patch gleamed in the water.

Suddenly, he frowned. Well, not quite like a mirror. The mirror reflection was mean, always making fun of him by mimicing him. The pond reflection just beckoned, like it wanted him to join it. The pond reflection always welcomed him.

"Come on," it seemed to say, "Go ahead and touch the pond. It's okay, it won't hurt or anything. It's nice and cool in the pond. Come join me!"

Samuel was sorely tempted, and reached his hand out over the surface. About an inch away, though, he stopped. Why was he doing this? He should be playing with his friends over on the playground, not looking at his reflection in some silly little-

Before he knew it, a hand grabbed his from right out of the pond. His hand. He screamed, but it was too late. He was being dragged under. He heard a muffled cry from Ms. Matthews, his teacher. He couldn't breathe, though. He couldn't breathe, he needed air, he had to get to the...

***

"SAM, NO!" Jeanne yelled. She ran to the pond, she knew it, she just knew Sam, her best student, would drown, she had to save him! Tearing off her jacket and throwing her purse to the side, she dived heroically into the pond.

***

Three hours and no sign of him. Jeanne Matthews sat by the pond, blanket around her shoulders. She shivered. How had her student just disappeared like that? He couldn't just be gone. That was impossible.

An old homeless fellow walked up to her, shaking his head.

"Another poor soul, lost to Mary Manchester." He tutted. "I warned them, I warned them all. FBI, CIA, all of them. Beware the reflections. But they didn't listen. They called me crazy. Crazy, eh? Who's crazy now, eh?" He shook his fist in the air, a patch on his jacket covering up his elbow. Jeanne scooted away from him.

"Crazy old kook..." She muttered. She looked back at him. Funny, that patch on his elbow. She didn't know that the Junior Astronauts had been around long enough for that guy to own a patch.

Author's Note

As usual; Tear this thing apart. I want to become a better writer, and I would like your help in becoming one.

Reviews

[Stefanie Holmes]

This was eerily told. I liked the mystery... wondering what happened to poor Sam.
"He couldn't breathe, though. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't..." I don't think you need the repetition in this sentence, It would be fine if it read, "He couldn't breathe, he just couldn't."
Also, when people are talking you should start a new paragraph. Like this,
An old homeless fellow walked up to her, shaking his head. "Another poor soul, lost to Mary Manchester." He tutted. "I warned them, I warned them all. FBI, CIA, all of them. Beware the reflections. But they didn't listen. They called me crazy. Crazy, eh? Who's crazy now, eh?" He shook his fist in the air, a patch on his jacket covering up his elbow. *then break for a new paragraph*
Jeanne scooted away from him. "Crazy old kook..." She muttered.
Overall it was a good story and I hope to see you expand on it.

~Stefanie

[Cleavlnd Groves]

Thanks Stephanie, I will definetly use these for the edit! This si only a first draft, though, so there are going to be things wrong with it... Thanks again!

[Creepy Swine Guy]

Interesting little story. You came close to losing me all the way up to the last line. That's where the payoff is, in the last little detail. There are several structural matters here that could be tidied up. If you wish to know about them, you can message me.