The mirror was cracked, blood tinged the fluffy, white carpet a pinkish color.

What was mom going to think, thought Amy, staring at what was left of her grandmother's antique mirror that had been tucked away in the spare bedroom. "I told you not to do it," taunted Jim. His five-year old voice quivered and shook with fear. "I didn't do anything you didn't make me do," retorted Amy, trying desperately to pick up the pieces of the broken glass, all the while getting shards of it stuck in her palms. It was an utter, chaotic mess to behold. Their mother had warned them to be careful around the mirror. In fact, they had both been instructed not to even go into the spare bedroom. There were, after all, "too many things that could break in there." But Jim had to do it, he had to dare her. Amy never backed down from a dare, especially a double-dog type of dare. With the force of a cat in flight, Amy had hurled her bouncy-ball through the hallway, intending to have it bounce nicely off the spare bedroom wall and back into her hands. Jim thought for sure she couldn't do it. What hadn't been calculated was the way it went careening off the corner, straight into the mirror. That is kind of what happended to all of Amy's "good" intentions.