through the looking glass, darkly

(inspired by tpp's latest blog entry)

I still remember that day in my elementary school, the day of the eclipse.

We were all outside, in the quadrangle, armed with pieces of glass stained with the fumes from a gasera.

Back then (I don't know if this still holds today) they said this was the only way you could see an eclipse without hurting your eyes. They said you could also use a large basin filled with water and look down on the eclipse's reflection instead of looking up directly at it -- but this entailed too much work and we were all lazy children.

Anyway, as we were craning our necks, trying to catch a glimpse of the sun through the smoky glass... my friend whispered to me that we shouldn't look at the eclipse.

"Why not?," I asked, not looking at him but at the sun. The moon was just starting to cross over the sun's face, the bright daylight suddenly a little dimmer.

He said "My mom told me that if you get caught outside while there's an eclipse, you'll turn into a pencil"

"A WHAAAAAT????"

"A pencil," he repeats, his voice a little shaky.

"How come?"

"I dunno, she just said so."

I turn my looking glass at him, trying to look funny -- but when I saw his face -- I knew he was dead serious.

I put down the dark shard, noticing that in the few minutes I spent watching the sun -- the world had turned a lot darker... and suddenly colder.

I look around and saw my classmates -- everyone looking like tiny giraffes, necks elongated.

The light was different, casting a ghostly pall on all of them (if you've ever been under a glare of a silicon street lamp that gives the skin a greenish, zombie-like patina -- I think that was the effect).

Goosebumps and pinpricks on my skin, I suddenly found myself believing him.

Without uttering a word, we ran inside to our classroom, not caring anymore for coronas, umbras and penumbras for fear of the curse awaiting those who intrude on the celestial union.

-end-