My horrible STORY that I am trying to delete!!!!!

  this a begining that i thought of for me & excelent smosh's story..... its supposed to be all magical and stuff, so i dont know if this is good, or not.

 I have always wondered about the mirror. The one that father used to carry around in his coat pocket. But now father is dead. Mother said that the mirror was mine now, but obviously she didn’t know what it could do.

   The mirror is literally a shard of glass. It has an odd shape. Almost the shape of an eye, surrounded in a thin gold trim. It is now sitting in the back of the cupboard, rusting, and gray from dust. It hasn’t been touched for nearly a year now; the last person to handle it was father, just before he died.

   My father was tall, and dark. He was younger than my mother by nearly ten years, but looked much older. He was constantly puffing at a cigarette, which rotted his teeth until they were a yellowy-brown. He had grey hair that he slicked back with gel, and a black goatee. He never smiled, or laughed. He was always serious, and didn’t take care of me and my mother. When we were sick, he would stay the night in bar, so that he didn’t get sick, too. It came as no surprise to me when the cops arrived at our motel room the night before Halloween.

   “Where is ‘e?” shouted an officer, holding up a gun.

   “Gavi?” asked my mother. “He’s at Morgib’s bar- just down the street!”

   The cop tucked his gun into his belt and eyed mother suspiciously. “So you’re the wife of that monster? Than why are you telln’ me where e’ is?”

   “You think I like him, officer? No! But if I tried to get away from Gavi he’d find me, and slit my throat like what he did with two others!” said mother, “I’ll help you get him in what ever way I can.”

   “We’ve got ‘im, ma’am. Farewell. Have a nice evening.” And the officer waved to me. I smiled at him sheepishly. The motel door slammed shut.

   “Why’d you marry him in the first place, mom?” I asked, and gave her a mug of piping hot fennel tea.

   “He was wonderful before he started drinking. It can ruin anyone!”

   “Oh. I suppose it can. Maybe when he’s in prison we can get a real house?” I said. I have never lived in a house before. Gavi made us stay in a different motel every week, so that he wouldn’t be found by the cops, but they were everywhere.

   “Of course!” she smiled.

   There was a banging on the door. I peeked through the eye whole, and pulled on the doorknob slowly. “Father” I said, glancing at my mom.

   He was drunk, as always. He grunted at me, and pressed the tip of his cigarette against the wall, than threw it on the floor and started on another. “Where’s dinner?” he shouted.

   “No need to shout.” Said mother, “It’s not quite ready yet- but soon.”

   “I’m starving!” he chucked an empty beer bottle at the window. The window shattered into a million tiny pieces that flew across the room. He snickered contemptuously