by Sadie Stone
The assignment: Pick two characters, a place, and an issue. We only had two pages.
A Mirror Image
Her eyes open, but the spinning room forces them closed again. She stretches her naked body, waking him. When she opens her eyes again, he is smiling at her. He had always been her favorite to sleep with. “What time does the gig start tonight?” she asks him, the stench of sleep and whiskey on her breath. “Sound check is at 6 o’clock, so we have,” he looks over at the red numbers beside the bed, “three hours until I have to be there. Be mine for that time, and tonight, don’t leave with Jimmy, or any of the other guys. Stay with me,” he pleads. No matter how many women followed them, and no matter how many of the other guys she slept with, it was her that he always strove to get at the end of each night.
“I can’t,” she whispered, “I have to go home to my sister so she can yell at me about my life like she does every time I’m back home.” She gets on her hands and knees and begins kissing his bare chest delicately. “I need a favor,” she asks, knowing he’ll give it to her. He nods, knowing the same. “I need something before I can see my sister. Something that will bite my skin and slither through my veins. It’s the only way I can deal with her. And then I will be back in your bed.” “I’ll make the call,” he responds, playfully flipping her onto her backside and kissing her neck.
She stands in front of her sister wearing her ripped denim shorts, a torn Led Zeppelin tank top, and combat boots. Her unkempt auburn waves sway in the wind, and her round green eyes lined in thick black held a distance in them. Her sister wears a calf length skirt with a conservative cardigan and her hair in a bun; the two a mirror image in everything except life choices.
The problem is usual, but this time the fight takes a different turn. Her sister, in a voice to match hers argues, “Look at you. You can’t keep yourself clean. You sleep around like a prostitute, you drink and you’re high right now! I don’t know what to do with you anymore. You have wasted your life, and I am tired of picking up the pieces you leave scattered around. Don’t come home anymore. Nobody could ever want the trash you’ve become. I don’t want you coming around here anymore.”
Her hands begin to shake and the snake venom in her body pulsates and clouds her brain. She can only feel her hand reach the knife in her back pocket and pierce her sister’s flesh. A fire of rage spreads through her body and she howls at the mistake she made, at the pain of this fire inside of her. She collapses into a pool of her troubles.
She wakes, lying in an unfamiliar bed, but sitting next to her is a familiar face. “Where am I?” she asks him. “You’re in the hospital,” he answers, his beautiful face contorted by worry. “Where’s my sister?” she asks him, remembering. “Babe, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I found you on the bathroom floor after the show. You stabbed yourself with the mirror you apparently broke.”
She is silent as a new memory breaks in. He grabs her hand, tugging her from her thoughts.
“My twin sister died when we were children,” she whispers, staring straight ahead, her blank eyes a canvas, ready to move on.