CHAPTER ONE MIRA "How do I look?" "Lucky," Sharon's voice reminded me of where I came from. I was standing in front of the mirror. The mirror hung on a single nail in a corner of a dimly lit, sparsely furnished room. The mirror's surface is cloudy and streaked, reflecting a distorted image of the bare, peeling walls and the worn, creaky floorboards. The frame, once ornate, now hung crooked and faded, its gilded edges chipped and worn away. The mirror seemed to lean wearily against the wall, as if it too had given up on the surroundings. My presence in front of the mirror was supposed to brighten up the place. But, the background still looked as pale as ever. Did I just say pale? I asked myself as I racked my head for the best word to describe it. "Poor," Sharon's voice was heard again. It was as though she read my thoughts. That was the word I was searching for. The exact words. Everything in front of the mirror screamed poverty, including myself. "You shouldn't go into
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