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 |  a place to rest my thoughts |
| There is a house at the end of the world, where three—can we call them sisters? I think so, although when seen in the world, they are one being whose name is complicated. Call her Time—three sisters live at the end of the world guarding the cup. The first of the sisters is young and fresh with plump cheeks and wild hair and bare feet that dance as she moves, and her name is complicated. Call her Tomorrow. The middle sister has lines and the beginnings of gray in her hair, with plump arms for wrapping the world in her arms, and her name is complicated. Call her Today. And the last of the sisters is so old that her face is a mass of wrinkles and her hair is short and wispy white, and her fingers are long and grasping, and her name is complicated. Call her Yesterday. Every day, there at the end of the world, they wake together and gather at the mirror of the end of times, which is a cup of water, still and black, in the center of the kitchen. Yesterday draws it every morning from the well of sight, as is her right, her hands aching and trembling with memory. Today breathes on it seven breaths to still it and adds three drops of blood from her fingertip, so that the image will be true. And then Tomorrow looks. She looks without touching it, gaining strength from her sisters, who stand behind her, hands on her shoulders. “What do you see,” they say, one warm as a mother, the other dry and cracking as death. “I see fire and lightning. I see war in the air and the water, under the water, across the land. I see ice and pestilence and scarcity creeping over the land. I see death.” And when she has seen these things, she reaches, with both hands because the mirror is heavy, and she brings it to her lips and drinks them away. As she does, her face pales and wrinkles and her hair fades and falls away until Tomorrow has become Yesterday. Today kisses her withered lips and draws back, becoming Tomorrow, for the poison of the future is furthest from her being. Finally, the one who was Yesterday kisses her, then stands straighter becoming Today. Tomorrow brings a chair for Yesterday and she sits, old and worn with the weight of the future that has been put off again. Just one day more. word count: 418 |
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