Countdown

5… 4… 3… 2… 1

My eyelids robotically open, but are they mine? “About time, you need to complete your purpose.” The mirror says coldly, sending chills. Wait, what? Is that me!? I stare at the mirror I see a monster staring back, with dead black‑hole eyes that hold only… calm controlled yet wild anger? The monster was a 19‑year‑old girl, about five feet ten inches, with an innocent smile and a short, light‑blue floral dress. The sleeves reached just above the elbows, and the tiny white flowers were spread along the dress, which was tight above the waist, and flowy beneath. She wore clean white sneakers, with the laces perfectly tied. Her lips were soft and light pink, her knotless wavy hair brown and blonde, the contrasting colors mixing beautifully on her head. Her face perfect and symmetrical, yet her eyes pure black, endless and dead. Then I noticed her hands in the mirror: they held a small blade. I don’t know how I knew, but that blade was responsible for the death of many, or will be. The woman smiled. She walked towards the door, closing it quietly behind her, leaving the perfectly clean bedroom behind her. She entered the kitchen, marble counters, and not a speck of dust. She saw a man sitting at the table, he was two years older, and smiled kindly, eyes squinting gently. His brown hair messy yet perfect, his eyes an ocean blue, with a perfectly contoured face.

“Hey babe, why don’t you get started on my breakfast? Also fix your posture, and you should probably give the kitchen a quick sweep. Kay?” He calmly said. It wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order. Knife behind her back she nodded.

“With pleasure,” she replied, switching the blade with the packet in my pocket. She made eggs, bacon, and toasted whole grain bread. Serving it on a spotless plate, along with the small white grains from the packet.

“Finally, taking your time today huh? When are you going to make yourself useful?” He said with a chuckle, the stench of alcohol from his tailored buttoned shirt hinting at the party he went to last night. She drew the knife from her dress slowly as he ate, smiling warmly. “What’s that you have there?” he asked, “Are you going to slice my bread because, while you’re doing that you should probably redo my eggs. A little too runny.”

She laughed, a high maniacal laugh, “Eat.” The laughter cut off, replaced with a cold demanding voice. The one she had heard from him one too many times.

“WHAT THE FUCK YOU BITCH?!” he screeched, “DON’T YOU DARE TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!” He got up, ready to hit, to hurt; but it wasn’t his turn; it was hers.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5

He lunged at her. She stumbled back, catching the edge of the countertop with her arm. Steadying herself, she gripped the blade behind her back, bracing for what would come next.

He launched himself at her again. But this time it was he who stumbled back. A searing pain rippled through his body. “What the fuck?” he muttered under his breath. As he looked down at his fists, he felt his heart beating rapidly. His breath quickened and he could feel his throat begin to close. Within minutes he had crumpled to the floor, hugging himself for support. His ocean blue eyes, once placid, now a storm of fear and agony. He heard her voice softly speak to him.

“Who’s the bitch now?” she whispered, “Redo your own eggs.”

The girl watched him with fascination. Still holding the blade, she looked at it, now resting in her hand. She considered finishing him off, but she found herself slipping the blade into the pocket of her dress.

They hadn’t known each other long, but it was long enough to feel love, fear, anger and sadness. She felt overwhelmed by the wave of feelings that suddenly swept over her. Without thinking, she slowly kneeled down beside him. She looked at his outstretched arm and open hands, once fists ready to break her. In this semi‑unconscious state, he looked sweet and kind. Reaching out, she allowed herself to touch the tip of his hand. As she pressed her finger against his, she felt a scalding heat and a spark, like an electric surge. A vibrant blue light blinded her. Then everything turned black.

It felt like minutes, or was it hours? When she opened her eyes, the first thing she felt was pain and the hardwood floor under her. Looking up, she could see herself staring down at her. Confused, she looked to the right at her outstretched arm, muscular and adorned with a tailored shirt…