Reflection in the hourglass

They’re coming for me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Time slips through my fingers like sand in an hourglass. The worn wooden walls around me ache with age, threatening to collapse at the slightest disturbance. I lay sprawled upon the frayed couch, patches of stuffing scattered violently around me, a massacre. Tick. Images flash through my mind, crimson painting my view as screams rattle around me. I don’t remember what happened last night, only the haunting memory of my sister's lifeless body collapsed before me remains. I clutch my head, stumbling from the couch, my half-drunk bottle falls into the graveyard of the rest, leaving a trail of red, a testament to the destruction I’ve left in my wake. I can’t waste any time. I stagger towards the kitchen table, gripping the soft wood for support. I feel cold, sticky blood coating my fingertips, my eyes dart towards my hand, but there’s nothing there. The voice in my head rings, whispering that I killed her. I shove the thought from my mind. It wasn’t me. But I didn’t do anything to stop it. I resist the rising bile bubbling inside me, burning me from the inside out. The rhythmic ticking from the old grandfather clock is the only grounding I have, each sway of its hands reminding me that my time is running out. Tick. Tick. Tick. It wasn’t me. But they won’t believe me. 

It’s been a day since my sister missed dinner with the family, hours of sickening concern from mother, and only minutes left until they reach this place. Then my time is up. When mother walks into this place, when she sees the horrors of that night, her precious baby desecrated and devoid of life, I’ll be the one blamed. My eyes stray towards the kitchen counter where my old, cracked android lays, my sister's iPhone sitting neatly beside it. Her phone shakes violently as more missed calls and voicemails pile up like towers, beckoning her to answer. I long to hope those calls were mine, listening to mum's thankful cries as she realises her precious baby is okay. But I know it's not meant for me, it never is. Unlike hers, my phone lays barren, empty of concern as I am dismissed from her perfect little world. My hand fumbles as I clasp her phone, the case slipping through my fingers, glass shattering as sparks of light reflect off the broken pieces. Tick. I stare blankly at the remains, hands shaking. It wasn’t me. I messily avoid the scattered shards as I try to put together my own broken thoughts. Mother’s always wanted me gone, treated me like a thorn in her back. If I can’t remember, if I can’t put the pieces together, she’ll make sure I’m the one framed. Only fragments of my memory linger. I stood there as I watched the time slowly slip from her eyes, unable to stop it, the reflection of the murderer in her lifeless eyes. Tick. I need to remember, time’s running out.

I scramble towards the doorway of my old bedroom, my once sanctuary. Drawings line the room, hung high upon the walls, crayons scribbled along the wood. Depictions of my sister and parents scratched in yellow and blue, faded. Recollections of my sister coming in and claiming these walls for her own fill my mind. My parents blamed me for the incident, and I can’t help but to blame myself now. I gaze upon the drawings, running my hand across the scribbles. These once brought joy to my sister, now crimson is splattered across the canvas, corrupting her perfect world. Tick. Tick. Tick. Threads of time entangle within my memories, the night of our getaway tearing through my mind. Blinding lights and the distinct smell of liquor encompass me, my sister's shining smile twisting as her blood glowed against the walls. My hand clutches my mouth, unable to suppress the liquid escaping me, covering me in a warm, sticky mess. My eyes dance as they readjust to my surroundings. In the corner of my eye I catch a reflection in the mirror. And I see it. See them again. If only for a split second, the sinister smile of the one who stole her life. My eyes dart behind me, and only blank spaces remain. I know them, the familiar curvature of their lips, the eyes devoid of humanity. Tick. Memories wash over me and suddenly I’m back at that night. I’m in the corner of the basement, my vision clouded and warped. My sister slowly walking up the stairs when the killer crawls out from behind, snatching her neck and dragging her down the stairs. I watch helplessly as they desecrate her fragile body. Her fair skin turning into a twisted series of purple and blue as bruises form across her battered body. A twisted smile uncurls from the perpetrator, distorted and warped as they enjoy her tormented screams and struggles as she desperately fights back. But it's no use, they are too big, and she is too small. A sickening crack roars from her bones, and I watch as life slowly drains from her, time slipping from her eyes. Tick. It wasn’t me.

Memories bubble from deep within me, threatening to burn me. My mind screams as I try to force the remaining thoughts up. Maybe if I see her, if I confront the body, I’ll remember. I struggle as I make my way towards the basement, the worn door making my stomach twist, knowing that behind it is my sister's cold, lifeless body. I latch onto the knob and pause, forcing myself to twist it. Tick. Darkness covers me like an icy blanket as I descend into the shadows, flicking the switch as the light blinds me. I hesitantly take the last step, and I feel a sticky mess below me. Her blood. My stomach churns, and I look up. Lying beneath me is her body, devoid of any life, painted in a myriad of black and blue, the spark in her eyes vanished. Tick. Colours whirl around me as my body crashes into the ground, fragments of that night replaying in my head like a broken record.

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THUD.

“Did you hear that?” My sister turns toward me, her eyes wide in fear.

“Hear what?”

“That thud! It sounded like it came from the basement.” Her voice shakes, almost pleading to me.

“We can go check it out if you want.” She gives me a slow nod. I push myself off the couch, creeping into the darkness as she trails behind me. The walls loom over us, shadows crawling from the entrance of the basement. My eyes dart around me, and I grab a nearby umbrella as a weapon. I latch onto the old wooden doorknob, twisting it gently as the door creaks.

“Can’t you open it any quieter?” She begs. I shoot her a glance before crouching down the foreboding steps. As we reach the bottom she flicks a switch. The lights sputter in uneven bursts before illuminating the room. I inch into the unknown, peering behind each pillar before turning back to her.

“Seriously? There's nothing here.”

“But I swear, I swear there was something here, I heard it” My eyes roll as she begins to push past me. A muffled song rings from her pocket and she answers. I watch her carefully and I see the distinct words of ‘Mum’ etched across her screen.

“Hey what's up? Hmm? I’m just at the old lodge, Cindy is with me. Yeah, I’ll be at the gathering tomorrow, don't worry.” Her words cut deep into me, jealousy boils inside me as she continues her conversation. Yet another event I’ve been left from? Typical. I wobble towards her, the alcohol kicking in. She hangs up, and I see the killer creeping from behind a pillar, raising their weapon as they hit her in the head. She staggers down the steps, and they grab her around the neck, dragging her the rest of the way down. A crunch rings the air as they scramble on top of her, clumsily pinning her down. She tries to scream but nothing comes out, grabbing onto their neck in an attempt to get them off. But it’s futile. Tick.

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A scream echoes around me as my memories come together, her blood clinging to me from below. I clamber up, pacing erratically across the cold stone. I raise my hand to my mouth, slowly biting my nails as I rhythmically tap my fingers. Who was it? Who was it? My feet speed up, and a low rumble echoes in the small room. The frigid stone walls trap me, closing in. But who? Everyone loved her, maybe someone jealous? Someone who would rather steal her light than watch her shine? Tick. If that was the case mother could easily pin it on me. But I would never hurt her, I loved her, it’s my parents who screwed me over. My eyes stray towards her body, and I silently rest by her side. My hand brushes over her face, her frozen skin a sickening reminder that she’s no longer here. I glance at her beautiful, silky hair, and I can’t help but chuckle as I reminisce about our past. One time when we were kids she longed for short hair, so I grabbed the nearest pair of scissors and graciously gave her a haircut. I obviously didn’t know what I was doing, but she loved it anyway. When our parents found out I was sent away to boarding school as punishment, isolated. I think that's when our relationship took a turn for the worse. I stand up, taking one last look at her before peering into the darkness, and I see them, the killer, waiting in the darkness. I freeze, and they stand there, watching me, stalking me. Fear grips me to the core, the pit in my stomach growing. Familiar, so familiar. But it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. I raise my hand, rushing towards the figure, making contact with them. Tick. 

Glass scatters around me, my own haunting reflection smiling back at me. I crash into the ground, blood seeping from my fist as tears flow from my eyes. It wasn’t me. My own words haunt me, tormenting me. They echo through me in waves, reminding me of her death. It wasn’t me, it couldn’t have been. Tick. The alcohol is making me misremember, the guilt twisting my memories, I would never. Tick. My hands dig into my scalp, the realisation excruciatingly painful. Tick. I was just so angry. Tick. I creeped closer towards her, I hit her on the head, I wrapped my fingers around her neck, I dragged her down the steps. Tick. I’m the one that slowly drained her of life, watched her struggle as she silently screamed, eyes pleading me to stop, questioning why? Tick. Why did I never get invited to events? Tick. Why did I always get left behind? Tick. Sorry Cindy, she’s too young not to come with us, and we can’t afford to take you. Tick. Sorry Cindy, you need to look after her tonight. Tick. You can afford your own things Cindy. Why did you steal their love? Why did they love you more? But she was innocent, she fought until she didn't have the strength left, terrified, frantically trying to figure out why her own sister betrayed her. Tick. I took it all out on her. I ruined her future, her happiness, because of my disgusting jealousy. Tick. I killed her. Tears fall from my face, mixing with her blood, my body cramping as I curl into myself. The old grandfather clock chimes. Soft tones turning into sharp strikes, every note signalling the end.

Knocks thump against the front door. Mother’s pleas filling the void around me, piercing my mind. It was me, I killed her. They’re coming for me, and it was all my fault.