Refracted Lights

refraction
/rɪˈfrakʃn/
noun
PHYSICS

1. the fact or phenomenon of light, radio waves, etc. being deflected in passing obliquely through the interface between one medium and another or through a medium of varying density.

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It had started as an experiment. Or the thought of one, based on a bet with Jon that it was possible to light a candle using reflected and refracted light. Jon was insistent it was not possible and Gus - well, Gus never did like being told what he could or could not do.

Within the matter of a couple of days, he had gathered the mirrors and the lights - a few different bulbs with high intensity - and found an empty store room he could set up in. He placed the mirrors at a wide angle to start. The lights he fiddled with until he settled on one and set it up some distance away, fixed to a stool that threatened to fall at the slightest provocation.

It was a rickety little set up. Gus loved it. Jon laughed in his face.

Gus loved his rickety little set up even more aggressively.

He came in every day, ostensibly to adjust the mirrors a little. He had started it at such a wide angle that none of the mirrors had caught any light, had resulted in no reflection other than that of the room. And there was really nothing much in the room but what he had brought in and himself.

Every day, he turned them a little bit more towards each other, and every day they crept closer towards catching light and the edges of each other.

Perhaps the experiment was doomed to fail. Perhaps the lights he had found had not been strong enough. Perhaps he had simply found a challenge he could not complete. But as the edges of the mirrors began to reflect one another, Gus was struck with another - dare he say it - brilliant idea.

Jon did not think it was very brilliant, but he helped Gus drag the mirrors a little closer any way. For all his nay-saying, Jon was a good friend.

The mirrors were still angled, not reflecting each other completely, but when Gus gazed at them, the edges seemed to go on and on and on.

It was endless. Fathomless.

An infinity of mirrors.

Gus liked it more than his initial idea.

(He thought he saw a smudge of black - almost a shadow - far in the reflection. A blink and it was gone, and he put it out of his mind.)

Each day, he adjusted the mirrors to face each other a little more. Jon grew busy with his own work, but Gus never failed to make his way to the store room and turn them just an inch further towards each other.

An endless row of mirrors before him. A passageway of light and glass and metal. It was bright and shiny and seemed to span an eternity. Gus could not help the self-satisfied grin on his face whenever he surveyed it.

(That black shadow appeared every day, a little closer, as though creeping forward. But one blink and it was gone. Gus told himself it was an effect of staring at the mirrors for too long.)

After days of meticulous adjusting, the mirrors were finally facing one another. It was a triumph of sorts that Jon found ridiculous, but Gus could not help spending a little longer in the room.

Ahead of him was a long, long, long and endless path of reflections. He could not take his eyes off of it. It was mesmerising. It was - if he was honest - disorienting.

(A smudge at the edge of the mirror demanded his attention but he resisted. It was nothing, just his imagination. Just a result of him staring too long at the bright reflections. He would blink and it would be gone.

Gus blinked.

The black blot was still there.)

He stepped closer, between the mirrors, his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes were not on the path he had created, but the shadow at the corner of the mirror. It almost seemed like a figure, albeit made smoke, shifting and moving. He reached a hand out and his fingers touched the surface of the mirror.

It was cool. Too cold, a shock to his system that had him pulling his hand back quickly. Gus flexed his fingers, swallowing nervously before looking up again.

The shadow was gone.

Embarrassment coloured his features. He met the eyes of his reflection and sighed, a low exhale as he mentally berated himself for his overactive imagination. Gus shook his head and brought his hand up slowly to the surface of the mirror.

His fingers grazed warmth. He pressed his palm down, the feel of it the complete opposite of his first touch. It was almost as if he was not touching the hard planes of glass and metal that made the mirror but instead -

He met his reflection’s gaze again, eyebrows furrowed -

His reflection smiled.

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You can read more of Gus' story here.