The Threshold

The Threshold


Hauled away from an estate sale in its last gasp, a full-length regency mirror eyed her new owner with suspicion. In contrast, Wanda caressed the gilded curves of her looking glass, although she wasn't ready to stare at her image.

Casting a side glance behind Wanda's back while she shoved a table aside to make room, the mirror sized her up: waddling gait, slouching posture, low self-esteem.

That night, Wanda dreamed that she possessed magic wands for arms. Lucid dreams were blessings when they produced numbers for Lotto wins. Otherwise, they were curses that she remembered upon awakening in a startle.

What began as a pleasurable fantasy turned into a nightmare: a series of dinner parties -- on the same evening -- consisting of grotesque would-be suitors who regaled Wanda with tales about extremely bizarre fetishes. Her enchanted appendages failed to manifest someone who deemed her worthy to embrace far beyond the docked ship in the friend zone.

Just as she was about to chop off her magic wands in her frightening dream, the full moon shone her bedroom despite the blackout curtain panels. Wanda awoke babbling and was relieved to be rescued. After the lunar show was over, she rolled to her left side to flip on the lamp on her nightstand. Planting her broad feet on the pink shag carpet, she glanced at her mirror, which seemed to beckon her with its regal presence.

Once she reached the mirror, Wanda lifted her head. Mouth agape, she stared at the svelte figure and delicate face. "Eighteen," she murmured.

Body humming, cobalt mascara stunning, Wanda couldn't stand still. Perspiration trickled down her now minimal cleavage, quickly descending on her torso 'til the hot beads were tickling her navel ... on a flat tummy.

"No way!" she exclaimed to her slender image.

"Oh yeah, way!" the mirror said, cracking up.

"No more midlife catharsista," Wanda said. "I'm not gonna take for granted this second chance at being eighteen."

"Speaking of 'granted,' there's one, little catch, my dear," the mirror cautioned. "I will grant you the wish to be eighteen again only if you promise me to always dance like no one is watching."

"I promise. Thank you, Mirror."

Suddenly, synth-perfect strains of music from Flashdance were pumping iron in her bedroom. With a wink, Mirror transformed Wanda into a "Solid Gold" dancer who moonlights as a welder in Manhattan.


(c) 2026 Gabriela


Thank you for watching The Threshold.

#experimentalfilm #nostalgia #fate #artfilm #fantasy #surrealism #art #dance