Looking Through the Hourglass

She examined the hourglass carefully, looking at it as if it was one of a kind. Indeed, it was. She hesitated. She wanted to touch it. She longed to feel the smooth-looking glass beneath her gentle fingers. She wanted her fingers to slide against the varnished mahogany that held the glass in place. But she couldn't touch it, even if she wanted to. The sand gently fell, creating a miniature desert underneath. Her time was running out.

The sands of time were streaked with different hues of red, blue, gold, and green. It was phlegmatic to the constant pull of gravity as it descended like water, amounting to the sand dune that built up every second.

This was probably the reason why time was important. As each particle of sand fell, the dune grew, and a second was wasted. Who knew how much time she was wasting just by staring into the transparent glass, fantasizing about what would happen if she rotated it.

It was just seconds before the mound was complete—mere seconds before time was done and over.

Finally, she brought her fingers to touch the object desired by many. It took courage, for she didn't know what could happen. She didn't know what to expect. It was cold—no one had touched its transparent glass before her, except for Time and his ancestors. The sand began to descend. What once came down now went up. It resisted gravity. The once colorful sand turned into a jet black substance of thick liquid. Accustoming itself to its new keeper, it made a high pitched clang—the kind when knife strikes crystal.

It vibrated as its dark liquid began to flow up and down, faster than ever. She wondered if this too happened to Time. She was chosen by him to inherit this beautiful curse. He was the last of his kind, and his corpse now lay before her, with the uncanny hour glass attached to his wrist with a chain of silver.

The liquid oozed out of the crack that had forever been there—a flaw in simple time. The cold liquid crawled up her finger as it proliferated throughout her entire hand. It stopped when it reached her slender wrist. A black chain formed, bonding her to the hourglass. She tugged at it, even though she knew it would never budge. The liquid crept away from the chain, and away from her hand, into the crack it had just escaped from. It left the black chain silver. At the same time, the chain that once was on Time dispersed. He was finally free.

Everything returned to normal. The liquid returned to sand. The hourglass retained its deceiving look of subterfuge. Moments ago, it had been on Time's wrist. Now it was chained to hers. And it will forever stay that way, unless she too dies like Time. Death was her only salvation.

Word Count (excluding prepositions, conjunctions, and articles): 379