Giggles, laughter, happiness; the joy in which I shed through the bright and colorful house that has bubbles dancing gracefully through the air. The air is sweet like drops of honey and I can not contain what my six-year-old self feels since the magnitude of it is superior to my thoughts and actions. I feel safe and content in this house that has color that flies across the walls to keep up with me. I run up the stairs that bring with them the singing of bells that magically produce their music with each thump of my foot. The curls of my shiny hair bounce on my shoulders and the little red bow on top would wave with each movement I made. The air is sweet. My fingers glide across the walls as I sway the little dress that floats gently around me. As I glide to my bathroom and stare at myself with my blue wondering eyes I think that everything is perfect. I grab a piece of candy that is wrapped perfectly from the pocket of my little wool sweater that I can never seem to take off and I look down at it. The perfect little swirls on the candy look like a whole other world. I look back up at the mirror slowly as my eyes peel away from the candy. My smile fades.

   The beautiful walls that had bright colors which danced on them had disappeared to an old, green color with cracks all around. The mirror was cracked into twelve different pieces with little shards that fell, which could never be put back together. I do not look much better. The curls have become straight and thin with dead ends. My beautiful blue eyes have become dark underneath and despairing. My dress, now simple, dull, and dirty with a small pocket that has a whole. My face, bruises with hollowed cheeks. The air is no longer sweet. The dreams for a better life I yearn for are held in a small piece of candy. The only thing that still remains from my fantasy. I look down at the candy and notice my arms and hands. Brittle and dirty. I’m cold and the sounds I hear frighten me. The creaking and the yelling. I hear something heavy hit the floor, yet my family doesn’t own anything. The only thing heavy in here is us, which is ironic. I want to forget this sour life and go back to my sweet one. The one where I see bubbles and colors. The one where the air is sweet. The one where I’m laughing and happy. I unwrap the candy that holds the smell to my bright world. I hold it up surprisingly with my hand shaking and I slowly push it back past my cracked lips. I let the sweetness flow over my tongue and I close my eyes. I hear heavy footsteps walk up the stairs coming to add more purple to my dark skin. “At least I’ll be gone when they come”, I whisper to myself quietly. Everything starts the change back to bubbles and colors and laughter in my mind. Yet, I have a feeling in the back of my head that while I’m running, I’m still in the bathroom with a smile on my face staring at the cracked mirror. That I will have some more dark colors appear with me when the sweetness rounds out. This is my life. My sweet and sour life.