I guess I would’ve never expected I would be in this situation at all; jumping through a mirror into the future. It all started when Canada declared war on the USA, due to Canada wanting all of North America to be together, banded by Imperialism. At first, there was no real danger to us, as there were very few battles that weren’t near our city. But soon, the whole world entered a new, dangerous phase of the Last War, as Germany joined on the behalf of the USA and launched a nuclear weapon on us. Germany aimed and hit Bolton, Ontario, which has a population of twenty-six thousand, with the intention of showing their power. It was a fairly small nuclear bomb, but it wiped half of the city out. This meant that no one was safe, especially me because I lived just around 300 miles away from Bolton. Hence, my best friend Wythe and his mom, Mona, decided to move to Wimberly, Texas, to get away from the potential nuclear threat. We bought a small cottage that the owners sold to fly to the Caribbeans, which are not in the war.

We soon got to the house, and Wythe and I immediately ran up and down, searching every nook and cranny. They weren’t anything besides disappointment.  But after we settled in, Wythe and I ended up finding a creaking trapdoor, revealing stairs to a dark, empty room. I flicked the dusty light switch to my right, turning on a dim light in the center of the room. Cobwebs lined the ceiling as the many boxes came into view. I could only see a few, but as I looked around I noticed one very suspicious-looking box. It had some dirt and dust on it but looked like it was just recently placed there, for it had a lot less dust than others. I signaled to Wythe, who made his way over. I then brushed off the debris, revealing a sign that read, CLASSIFIED - DO NOT SHARE.  Before I could stop him, Wythe opened the box, and a mirror with a scary amount of futuristic stuff floated toward the nearest wall, where it came to a rest.

“What the—” before I could scream, Wythe covered my mouth and moved to the mirror. 

“Why didn’t you read the label?” I ask In a softer tone. 

“I'm so sorry!” He apologizes  “I was just overly excited.” Wythe then touches the mirror carefully, but his hand went through and seemed to disappear. It still showed our reflection in the mirror, just without Wythe’s hand.  I gasped as he pulled out his hand, perfectly intact, even though it just disappeared. 

“Woah. Wythe. take it easy. I wouldn’t put anything else besides your hand into the mir–” Wythe grabbed my hand with a death grip, his fingers lacing into mine. “Wythe? What are you doing?” I try to untangle my hand, using my left to pry his fingers off mine. But before I could do so, Wythe took a jump into the wall and yanked me in.

My arms felt an immense amount of pressure as I got pulled into the mirror.

And here we are, in a room just like the basement in the cottage, but with hints that it is a bit newer, with less debris and mustiness everywhere.

“WHAT THE HECK WERE YOU THI—”

“Dude this is so cool, look around!” Wythe says, covering my mouth. I take a glance and spot the mirror.  I untangle from Wythe’s grip and run back towards the mirror. But instead of warping back to safety, the glass shatters upon touch and the shards fall to the ground. 

“Woah, Nico get over here,” Wythe says, signaling me with his hand to a crumpling calendar. He completely ignores what just happened to me. On it, I can barely make out the number 2056, but it doesn't seem like it has been used in a while.

“Where are we?” I shoot.

“Uhh, what is going on?” Wythe exclaims, “But wherever we are, let's just explore” grabbing me by the arm. We reach up the wooden ladder to the world. As I step outside, a stale smell reaches my nose. I can’t even see 20 meters ahead of me, and I don’t know if it's fog or smoke in my path of sight. Coldness wraps around and engulfs me as I realize I just have a t-shirt on. 

“Cold? Catch,” Wythe asks as he underhand lobs me a heavy coat, the kind that has fluffy fur around your neck. I reach out and catch the thick jacket.

“Where’d you even get this?” 

Wythe shrugs. “I don’t know, I just found two hanging.” 

“Thanks,” I say, still in shock at what happened moments ago. I wrap the weighted coat around me. He saunters by me and walks into the abyss.

“Hey! Where are you going?” I question.

“Uh, exploring. What else are you going to do? Stay in here?”

” Wythe laughs.

“I think I’ll stay here.”

“And what if I don’t know my way back? I doubt you can survive an hour.” Wythe explained sarcastically. I have no choice but to follow him.

“Alright, let's go,” I say, my mouth shivering, from either the cold or nervousness. As we walk along an abandoned path. Flashes of life are shown through newly built huts and unlit lamp posts. 

As the day turned to dusk, we put our trek on hold when we find a medium-sized hut that looks to be quite new. There's some writing craved into a piece of rotten bark, suspended from a post outside. It reads, 

Jake Stone, October 21, 2056. Cause of death—Hypothermia.

Underneath this, there is a paper note that reads, 

Have gone out south to find a warmer place. If you are reading this, that means you are also a survivor. There is firewood in the hole above the drinking pool and four sleeping bags in one of the closets. We have taken everything else with us, but we hope you can survive

 ~Johnathan Stone

“Who’s this Johnathan? And where do you think they are going?” I study the note, making sure there is no writing on the back.

“Eh, honestly, we just gotta survive. I don’t really care who or what this Jonathan is.” Wythe comments, strutting into the darkness.

I stumble around the darkness to find the firewood. Wythe reaches me with a box of matches and a couple of twigs Jonathan kindly left for us. I lay the logs into what I hope is the pit. The sun has completely set by now, so hopefully my log placement isn’t wrong.  Wythe strikes the box and sets the dimly lit flame against the twig. After a period of waiting and blowing, the flame awakes. Now having a source of light, I quickly head to the drinking pool. I haven't had water this whole day and really need it. We luckily stumbled upon a few berry bushes and had enough unripe sour blueberries to last the day. After we get into the sleeping bags, I can feel how sleepy I've been after searching for the entire day. Soon, my weary eyes fully close and I am fast asleep.

A dimly lit room with a dark gray pedestal in the middle reached my eyes. In the center is the mirror, with pitch-black edges, reflecting the one lantern hanging from the ceiling. Instinctively, I reach for the mirror, but my hand bounces off the surface instead of phasing through. 

“Don’t trust who you trust” An ominous voice echoes through the room. I turn around, to see a cloaked figure standing behind me. I stagger back, tripping into the pedestal and falling into the mirror head-first. This time, the mirror isn't solid and I fall into a black abyss.

Don’t trust who I want to trust?  My heart races as I try to comprehend what the cloaked figure told me. I need answers. And quick. The world would start becoming inhabitable soon, and I need to find a way out of this mess. 

I wake up, my heart pounding.

“Nico, we should probably get going.”

“Why? We have water and food here, and it’s cozy.” I explain. I definitely don’t wanna go wandering aimlessly again. 

“Because we gotta find a way out. If we travel south as Johnathan did, I bet we can find another hut or something.”

“But what if there isn’t something.”

“We’ll just head back.”

“And what if…we don’t know our way back?” I raise my voice.

“You know Nico, why are you always so scared of everything? Like just ignore your worries and just explore!” Wythe rages back.

“Fine,” I respond with a tone of defeat. The short pep talk didn’t even do much for me.

Wythe cleans up as I make breakfast. I woosh blueberries and raspberries around in the drinking pool. I’m still shaken up by my nightmare, plus Wythe’s hostility. 

After finishing our “breakfast,” we start on our second trek. This time we have more things, like a water bottle we found while walking, that we filled up in the drinking pool. We also stuff our jackets with berries. Knowing that the sun rises in the east, we begin our trip. 

“Man, thank god we found shelter, it seems like a snowstorm hit,” I examine with a sense of relief. The ground grabs our steps as we walk, pulling our feet through the meter of snow that fell last night. It’s a workout alright, and I’m out of breath from lack of oxygen, as smoke has taken over. At least I don’t have asthma, which Wythe has. I can hear him wheezing faintly, and a couple of tough coughs, but he’s not complaining. If I was him, I’d be already on my way back to the hut. After a full morning of stomping through snow, we stop to have a quick lunch, consisting of blueberries. Wythe pops a few into his mouth, then proceeds to cough them out with a heavy cough. 

“Wythe, are you sure you're okay?”

“Yea. I’m fine.” Wythe replies with another cough. I decide to lie back and rest my eyes. 

Resting my eyes turns into a power nap, where I’m awakened by footsteps. 

“Wythe, where are you going?” I mumble.

“I’m right here,” wheezes back.

“I thought I heard you leaving,” I say getting up from my sleeping position. I open my eyes to see Wythe right next to me. “Then what was making those foots—” 

“Woah, a bear!” Wythe points out. I scream. The passive brown creature glares at my soul.

“Run! It wants our food!” I yell as I wiggle my jacket off and turn to a sprint.

“Where are you going? It’s not doing anything to us. It doesn’t look like it’s aggressive. I doubt it wants our fo—”

“Umm the bear is now stepping toward you, you might wanna go” I yell back, as I slowly take steps backward. The bear saunters to my berry-filled coat and sticks his snout in it. That cues Wythe to shed his coat and catch up to me. The distracted bear takes its time to harvest the berries, as we swiftly continue south. Without our coats.

“At least we have our boots,” Wythe points out, “But I think I’ll need an inhaler soon.”

“Like we have one here.”

A heavy breeze joins our group as we continue our march south. Now without a coat, a tiny breeze is enough for a measly person like me. As soon as I find some resemblance of shelter, I’ll be calling it home. Another breeze passes through, making me instinctively cross my arms to arm myself.

“Wythe, are you cold at all?” I ask hoping it's not just me, while also hoping the cold will end soon.

“I’m not thaaat cold,” Wythe replies. Another gust of wind blows by, making Wythe shiver, “Maybe I’m a little cold.” The wind slowly becomes stronger, as mother nature increases her rage. After the wind, comes flaky snow. The puny snowflakes collaboratively work together to build up on my skin. By the time snow has arrived, my hands are already numb. They’re ghost white with no life showing. Snow constantly hits my face, as my shivering becomes constant. 

“When are we gonna get there!” I scream. “It’s gotta be somewhere!” My walk turns into a jog, as I desperately look around for anything to take shelter in. The faint snow starts blocking my view as more and more falls. The once smokey sky is now overtaken by the snow. Snow pushes into my face, and the wind increases. Without anything covering it, my upper body is practically dead. I can feel my heart pumping, with my flight or fight instincts kicking in. I soon fall into a dead sprint. But it's not enough. Not enough. I collapse into the thick snow, the deadly white power surrounds my arms, which makes them feel like ice. It’s like my brain gave up. I know I can go more, but why? I probably already have frostbite. I close my eyes as death reaches the back of my eyelids.

“Nicooo! Please! Nico? Are you there?”  Wythe whimpers. I feel a shaking against my body. My eyes refused to open, but I let out a puny groan. 

“Nico! You’re Here!” Wythe grabs me and lifts me up. My eyes finally open as I look around. We’re in a small cave, and there are two tiny tents set up.

“Put me back down. Now please,” I mumble. “Just let me sleep.”

“Ok, I’ll put you in your sleeping bag,” Wythe insists. “I’ll even tuck you in.” I think of resisting, but I realize that I can’t do anything. I let him gently push me into a worn-out-almost-featherless sleeping bag, as I fall back asleep. 

 Shivering, I crawl out of my damp sleeping bag and look out of my tent. I saunter to Wythe’s tent and peek inside. Everything is packed up. I look at my hand and see a giant purple spot. It's almost the size of my wrist. Frostbite. 

Wythe? Where you at?” No response. He probably is just wandering, I reassure myself. I walk back to my freezing tent, to pack up, assuming we’re going to keep on exploring. As I begin to roll up my sleeping bag, I hear Wythe shouting. 

“Hey, Nico! Pack your stuff, and let's go! I found something!” I quickly stuff my backpack and head toward Wythe’s voice. I find him waiting for me, everything in his backpack.

“Where’d you go?” I asked as I approached him. “You should let me know before you leave.”

“Just follow me, I found something.”

“Are you sure it’s safe? How far away is it?”

Wythe stomps off, and I’m forced to follow him. After a couple of minutes of Wythe leading the way, another small hut renders into view.

“Is this what you found?” I asked, looking at this small little cottage. The wooden walls looked brittle and old, with the door paint chipped off. 

“Yes, but that’s not all.” He steps onto the creaky porch and opens the door for me. On the door is a sign that says Johnathan Stone. As the door swings open, an old smell reaches me. Year-old dust flies up into the air.

“Man, this is one old pile of wood,” I exclaim sarcastically. I cautiously step in to scan the surroundings. The cute shack had one room, with a bed and a desk. I take a seat on the stubby chair and brushed off the snow laying on my coat. Wythe reaches over me and picks up a piece of paper lying on a shelf.

Dear Adventure,

If you are currently reading this, you have probably followed my travels through the mirror. I’ve been trying to find the best place to rebuild another mirror, where it’s safe and won’t be broken, while also being able to be found. If you’re reading this note, hopefully, it's alright. There is a small trap door resting underneath the bed, which reveals the room in which the mirror is held. Before leaving, please put everything back in its place, and the note back on the shelf. Good luck!

~Jonathan Stone

“Oh, so Johnathan Stone is the one who made the mirrors! He invented time travel!” Wythe exclaimed. “Let's start cleaning up and get the heck outta here!” A weird feeling hits my stomach, as a thought reaches me. What if the portal doesn’t take us back home? How can I trust Jonathan? You know what, I still gotta get out of this place, so I gotta get the mirror.

I quickly put everything back in place and crawl down under the bed and into the room. Unlike the cottage, the room was completely modernized with lab equipment everywhere. The room itself was pretty big and was pretty much a maze. I don't bother looking at materials or paper, instead, I dart around, looking for the mirror. I soon find what looks to be the broken remains of the mirror. Shocked, I look around for anything that could get us out of here.  My mind races on what could have happened. Did Johnathan Stone take it and break it? I gotta fix it, but how do I know it’ll take us home? 

“We need to get out of here. Fast. But the mirror could also lead us somewhere that's not home.”

“Pff. That's unreasonable.”

Wythe soon arrives as I start picking up the remains of the mirror. With him is a manual that Jonathan Stone wrote about the mirror. I flip through the booklet, which documents how the mirror breaks after each use, but it was pretty easy to fix it using some substance he had on the desk. But why would it break after use? And how would he know that It breaks? Who is this Johnathon and why does he know we would get here?

 As I’m contemplating what to do, Wythe grabs the liquid goo and drops a drop into my arms, where the pieces of the mirror are. Shocked, I back off, dropping the mirror, which immediately started forming into a mercury-type substance. Soon, the substance pops, and the mirror emerges, seemingly unharmed.  After a few moments, Wythe grabs me and throws himself into the mirror with me in tow.  

I keep my arms shut, fists clamped.

“Um, Nico this doesn't look like where we were before.” I open my eyes to find we’re in a less cold climate, with a nearly demolished cottage right beside us. A ripped-up and burned USA flag rests by its side. Dead grass brushes our ankles as the sun blazes upon us. 

“No, no no this can’t be happening.” I begin to panic, my legs beginning to tremble.

“Wait, this looks familiar.  Is this the cottage that we just bought?” Wythe points outs as he stomps through a patch of dead bushes.

“There’s something written in the dirt here.”

50 miles east -Mona Owen

“We better start walking.” Wythe sighs. I guess every journey begins with one step.