End(Beginn)ing

The bathroom was tiny, barely big enough for one person. Paint flaked off of the walls, the toilet was missing its lid, and rust smothered the sink’s metal faucet. Roseberry stood at the sink, staring into the mirror. A pair of dark gray eyes stared back at her, above a sharp nose dotted with freckles and a frowning mouth. 

A knock sounded at the door and someone called out, “You’ve been in there forever, Rosie! Other people have to use the bathroom too, you know!”

Roseberry clenched her hands into fists. “My name is not Rosie,” she said.

There was tense silence on the other side of the door and then the sound of footsteps moving away. Roseberry sighed, not breaking her staring contest with her reflection.

Then a different voice drifted up from downstairs. “Roseberry! It’s dinnertime! Don’t be late!”

The frown reflected in the chipped glass grew deeper, the eyebrows scrunched together angrily, and then Roseberry punched the mirror, sending shards of broken glass flying through the air.

—

8 years later

—

Roseberry ran as fast as she could. Her feet pounded against the ground, her hair flew behind her in the wind, and her tattered backpack thumped painfully against her shoulder blades. She ran until she couldn’t breathe, until her bones sloshed around like jello and her heartbeat pulsed through her entire body to the beat of an agitated snare drum. She stopped behind a tree to catch her breath, the sound of her gasps sounding thunderous in the quiet night air.

The wailing of sirens had faded into the distance. Roseberry clenched her teeth so hard her jaw began to ache and blinked until the hot sting in her eyes dissipated.

What did I just do? she thought, shivering, panic finally catching up with her and blurring out the edges of her mind. Her breathing sped up again. She shook her head to clear it, and out of the corner of her eye saw a large house. It looked derelict and abandoned. Roseberry took a deep breath in through her nose, hoisted the backup up higher on her shoulders, and headed deeper into the forest.

—

12 years later

—

Growling and clanging filled the air, and the scent of oil and smoke settled like a thick fog. Roseberry sat at her desk, machines rumbling all around her. She bit her lip in concentration as she sifted and poured and mixed. Awful smells wafted up from the glass vial, but Roseberry didn’t care. 

Years had passed since she’d found the abandoned house, but she hadn’t bothered trying to clean it up or make it any less gloomy. She filled the basement with pieces of scrap metal and lost articles of clothing and toxic plants that she found in the forest. She didn’t care that it was dark or that she had to sleep on the cold concrete. She wouldn’t be living there much longer, anyway. She would be finished with her project soon. The project that would fix everything.

—

15 years later

—

Bang! Bang! Bang! Roseberry’s eyes watered as she pounded on the sheet of metal. Sweat dripped down her face. Her hair was knotted in a tangled mess on her head and was now streaked with gray. 

In all the years she’d been here, nobody had ever found her. Maybe nobody had even looked for her. The condition of the old house worsened every day. Creaking and groaning kept Roseberry up at night, so instead of sleeping she worked on her project.

She needed to finish her project. It was taking too long. Longer than she’d thought it would. Eyebrows lowered and eyes focused on the metal, Roseberry thought, I’m running out of time.

—

11 years later

—

Roseberry’s eyesight had begun to fail her. Her bones felt old and weak. But she was almost done. Almost done. Almost done. She peered into a glass vial, and when the liquid bubbled, she grinned, lips cracking, thin and papery. Her body ached as if a thousand hammers had crushed her bones into dust, as if the smoke in the air had made her blood curdle, but she ignored the pain and she refused to rest because she was almost done.

—

8 years later

—

Squinting, Roseberry added the two final chemicals to the purple mixture in the vial. She poured the liquid into the last empty depression of the metal, hands shaking. 

At last, she was done. 

Using an old stick as a cane, she hobbled to the door and stepped inside the machine. Lights flashed and sparks flew, and Roseberry’s skin got hotter and hotter until she was sure it would melt off her body, dripping like the wax of an unscented candle. 

Then, with a pop! Roseberry was gone.

—

54 years earlier

—

The bathroom at the orphanage was tiny, smaller even than Roseberry’s closet at home had been. Roseberry stood in front of the mirror. She stared at her reflection, deep in thought. 

“Roseberry!” called Mrs. Newell, “You don’t want to be late for dinner!”

You don’t want to be late! Roseberry’s heart clenched and her breath caught in her throat. 

The evening was warm, and rain poured down from the sky. 

Her parents stood at the door, smiling, dressed up for a party. “Bye, Rosie!” they said, kissing her cheeks.

“Don’t go!” Roseberry tugged at their shirts. The storm frightened her. She didn’t want to be alone.

“We have to go now, or we’ll be late, darling.” Her father unhooked her little fingers from his shirt.

“We’ll be back before you know it,” said her mother.

Thunder crashed. Roseberry’s parents walked out the door. Rain pelted the windows.

Roseberry sat in front of the door for hours, waiting. She stayed up all night. They never came back.

“Roseberry, come on!” called Mrs. Newell again.

My parents didn’t want to be late, thought Roseberry. She thought about time and decided that she hated it. Time was the reason her parents had died. She looked at herself in the mirror. Reflected back were small lips turning downwards into a frown and dark gray eyes stormy with anger. 

Suddenly, a feeling of déjà vu washed over her. She blinked, bewildered. You can’t control time, said a voice in the back of her mind, don’t waste it. Her head began to pound, thump, thump, like the beat of footsteps hitting the earth, running fast, running away; like a hammer hitting a piece of metal, over and over and over; like an old house quaking in the night. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She saw glass shattering, and then she swallowed and her headache dissolved.

Roseberry opened her eyes and looked at herself one last time in the mirror, then opened the bathroom door and went downstairs to eat dinner.