It was a construct pieced together by our Professor. It was called 'The Millennium Angle': two mirrors glued together perpendicular, hanging by a coloured line. An 'X' and an 'O' were painted on either mirror, representing, I supposed, the Past (closed) and the Future (open). We were to write a story about it and have it ready the first week of January 2000. But she'd misspelled 'Angle' and though she corrected herself, to us it was the 'Millennium Angel'. She'd made extravagant promises about what the winner of this assignment would receive, but we'd been given no clue. My night to have it was tonight, New Year's 1999.
I was afraid of what this night might bring. I wanted to hole up in my room and stay protected. I waited for my muse but to no avail; I just kept thinking about the end. I viewed the construct; spun it to catch the light. As it stopped, I became aware of two things: I was still not inspired and the world seemed too quiet . I put my face into the Angel so I could see my left and right profiles reflecting each other, back and forth, infinitely. Caught between the past and future, yet safe somehow. Protected.
I heard the beep of my watch as the Millennium took its place. I waited for the sounds of revellers; none came. I sat, safe yet afraid in my bastion. Afraid to turn around. Afraid of what I'd see. Or not see.