The old Rollerdrome with its iron archway was overgrown with plant life. Large dim bulbs illuminated the sign, teenagers still frequented it on weekends. Streets were filled with rundown brick buildings. No one remembered what they were used for anymore. Some people stood outside the buildings selling scavenged amulets and relics. There was a bridge with train tracks that led downtown. It had become somewhat of a ghost town with most of its shops boarded up. People lived far away from even small cities like this. Larger cities were markers of those who had flourished before. Skyscrapers blocked sunlight but tiny cracks in their surfaces allowed small weeds and plants to poke through.
She always hoped she would discover anything magical in her world. The colors of her town, her clothes and even the people around her were tinged grey. She only saw color in her dreams from when she was very young. Though books showed her a colorful world they were written long ago and she began to believe that such places might not have ever existed.
But how could they could not have simply flourished from someone’s imagination onto a page when so many of them described such a vivid and contrasting world.
New books were never written and stories were only told to young ones by those who swore they had seen it or heard about it one time or another in another life. Her father claimed that all the lingering magic he had known had vanished with her mother. She all but gave up trying to find any trace of the world she dreamed of… until she found a very old cracked hand mirror. Though the glass was dirty she submerged it in the river and cleaned it with her dress. She took a deep breath and for a moment hesitated before looking at the reflection before her…