MENDED MIRROR’S REFLECTION
ALM No.91, July 2026
SHORT STORIES
The ferris wheel stopped with a scream of metal.
Not a dramatic movie scream either. A real one. Rust grinding against rust. Bolts groaning. The entire cart jerked sideways hard enough for the popcorn bucket between Di’Avion’s shoes to launch into the air like a startled bird.
Below them, carnival lights blinked red, blue, and yellow against the wet pavement. Fried dough smoke drifted upward in greasy ribbons. Somewhere beneath the wheel, a child cried while an employee shouted into a radio that crackled with static.
Di’Avion gripped the side of the cart so tightly his knuckles whitened. “Yo. Tell me this is part of the ride.”
Across from him, Stug leaned forward just enough to look over the edge before immediately leaning back again.
“Nah,” he muttered. “That sound definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.”
The cart swayed.
Not much. Just enough to remind them how high they were.
A gust of cold wind slid through the carnival and carried the scent of rain and grease with it. The wheel creaked overhead like something old and exhausted. Beneath them, workers moved frantically through the flashing lights while the crowd slowly backed away from the ride.
Di’Avion swallowed hard. “I hate heights.”
“You literally got on the ferris wheel willingly.”
“Because you said it’d be chill.”
“It was chill five minutes ago.”
Another metallic groan echoed through the structure.
The lights flickered.
For a second, the entire carnival below looked unreal—like a broken arcade machine struggling to stay alive. Di’Avion stared down at the puddles reflecting neon colors and distorted faces. Every reflection looked cracked apart by the rippling rainwater.
“Man,” he said quietly, “you ever feel like people only see pieces of you?”
Stug looked over. “What?”
“Like they get one bad look at you and decide that’s the whole picture.”
The wind answered before Stug did.
Then Stug rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “Yeah. All the time.”
The ferris wheel shifted again, slower this time.
Di’Avion laughed nervously. “Crazy place for a heart-to-heart.”
“Near-death experiences build character.”
“That’s not comforting.”
Below them, emergency lights flashed near the ride entrance. Workers shouted directions while a mechanic climbed toward the center of the wheel with a harness clipped around his waist.
Di’Avion watched him for a moment before speaking again.
“My moms used to keep this cracked mirror in our hallway,” he said. “Wouldn’t throw it away no matter how busted it looked.”
“Why?”
“She said broken things still reflect the truth.”
Stug stayed quiet after that.
The rain finally began to fall, soft at first. Tiny drops tapped against the metal bars around them. Di’Avion tilted his head back and closed his eyes for a second, listening to the carnival sounds blur together beneath the storm.
“You think they’ll get us down?” he asked.
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“A hundred percent.”
“That hesitation mattered.”
Stug laughed, and for the first time since the wheel stopped, the sound didn’t feel forced.
The mechanic finally reached the center axle. More shouting followed. The wheel groaned once more before slowly beginning to move.
The cart descended inch by inch.
As they lowered toward the glowing carnival below, Di’Avion looked again at the puddles scattered across the pavement. The reflections still bent and trembled beneath the rain, but they held together better than before.
Not perfect.
Just mended enough to recognize.
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