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Mirror

funny short story: mirror


Duke Gordon Ewe, ruler of a small town somewhere in the north of somewhere else, looked at his brand new magic mirror and smiled. It was a nasty smile, one that spoke of evil and spite, and also too much botox; but there you go, you can’t have everything. But you could have a magic mirror which would answer every question you put to it, especially if a witch had fallen behind in her payments for back-taxes and had her house repossessed. He stood before it now, and asked it the time-honoured question which always ends in tears, and on occasion, princes. .

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall; who’s the fairest of them all?"

The answer came immediately:

"Stanislaw Ebbergam."

Gordon paused for a moment, then asked in a cautious voice:

"The guy who always cuts the cake exactly down the middle?"

"Yes."

He glared, or what would have been a glare if his plastic-like face would have allowed it.

"I meant good-looking."

"Oh." The mirror paused before continuing; "you do know that that is highly subjective?"

"You’re a magic mirror."

"But I can’t do the impossible."

Gordon looked at it thoughtfully. Was seven years bad luck worth it?

"Look, you’ll tell me or I’ll smash you."

"That’s unlucky," protested the mirror.

"Yes, for you."

There was a long silence, eventually broken by Gordon’s "Well?"

The mirror answered in a decidedly grumpy voice.

"Elisabeth Von Dering."

"Thank you," replied Lord Gordon with an evil grin, which caused his eyebrows to end up where his forehead should have been. "I think I have a plan." He rubbed his hands with glee. "When the men have finished digging up the potatoes, we’ll go and have a small siege at Castle Von Dering. Nice idea, eh?"

The mirror wondered if it should mention that Elisabeth had been dead for forty years. It hadn’t to its last owner, which had caused a lot of pointless attempts with apples and suchlike. Still, she was very well preserved and her range of facial expressions was only marginally worse than Lord Gordon’s, so it’d be a good match.

"I think that’s an idea," it replied; "but if they keep their spades on them it would help."

It watched him go, and eventually heard him come back; in fact it heard him when he was still a few miles away. He didn’t seem happy, and when he burst into the room he didn’t look happy, even though the expression on his face was still technically a smile.

The next seven years were very bad for Lord Gordon Ewe. .

The author publishes short humor under the pen-name Severely Odd. His work is available on Amazon and via Smashwords.
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