Broken Hourglass

Chloe Sherrill-Howell / V Mag at UVA

Pshhhhh. 

Sand cascades, a torrent of gold towards the center. 

Each grain desperately tramples over the others, pleading to escape this endless cycle. 

Most of them make it to the center and out to the other side. However, some slip, plummeting to their death. They fall through the trenches scattered around their temporary freedom, silently swallowed whole by the inescapable voids.

The last few make their descent. Time has run out. The remaining grains huddle closely together, waiting for the familiar sense of dread. 

They are not disappointed. They cling to one another futilely, knowing what’s to come. Just as they predicted, a deafening crackle rips through the open space. 

Clink. Clink clink. Krrkkk. 

Mouths agape, the remaining grains cry out. Without warning, their world is flipped again. First sinking slowly, then rapidly down to the emergent chasm. 

Some, meaninglessly cling to the cold glass, as they are dragged away to their end. Some give in to the will of gravity. Some to their fate. Still, most refuse, reviving the engraved pattern of pleading and trampling. 

Huddled together once more, they wait. Nothing. Dread does not loom over them. Before relief could become a thought, fate creeps up behind them.

Clink clink. Krrkkk. Crack. 

The glass at the bottom gives way. 

Helplessly, the grains fall through like a staggering flood. They continue to clutch onto each other and cry out far louder than they have countless times before. Screaming even. But there is no sound to be heard. No sound should be heard. Flip. 

Time is running out much faster now. Fewer and fewer grains fall through its center. 

Clink crack. 

Flip.