History.
Finally, I pulled myself from the floor and into the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face and stared at the sullen, shell of the woman I once I was. We were happy once, I whispered to myself. Weren’t we? I watched the light behind my eyes fade further. I turned away sharply and headed back to our bedroom to remake the bed that I no longer wanted to sleep in.
The Hourglass.
The night sky hung heavy; the chill of fall lingered in the air. A slight breeze blew, rustling the fallen leaves on the ground. Inside the weathered two-story Victorian sat a very large hourglass, grains of sand slowly falling, counting down the minutes. Within the hourglass sat a beautiful girl with honey blonde hair and terrified eyes. Her tears soaked into the grains of sand, trying to slow down time.
Treacherous Games.
Anise paced the floor in her bedroom, unsettled and frustrated. Her blood boiled under her skin, her bones aching. Her breath came in fast, short spurts and her heart raced wildly inside of her chest, her ribcage doing its best to contain the fury. She lurched onto her bed, muffling her screams deep into her pillow. Feeling the need to release more, she shoved her hand under her mattress, revealing a sharp chef knife she’d taken from the kitchen. She plunged it’s blade deep into the soft pillow repeatedly, shredding the material to dust.
Frantic, she raced to the bathroom to splash cold water against her sweaty face. Her clammy hands shook as she turned the faucet. Her pupils were wide, covering the creamy brown of her iris in a cold shade of black. Her mind reeled as she stared down her own reflection. I’ll show her, she thought to herself, her skin crawling. I’ll show her.
“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”
-Anton Chekhov