Shattered

As the mirror shatters into the bathroom sink, the hand with which she holds the hammer drops to her side.

Staring at the empty space before her, she feels a smile lift her thin, pale lips.

'Done,' she says to the empty room, then walks into the lounge, swinging the hammer like a child with a toy. 'Done, done, done, done, done.'

She slumps into the sofa and catches her reflection in the blank television screen.

In a heartbeat, she's on her feet again, and the smash of the screen makes her cry out for a second before the room drops again to silence.

That’s it now, isn’t it? She looks at the broken window glass on the floorboards, feels the city breeze on her skin. That’s them all gone now. She won’t be seeing her again. Never, never, never.

She laughs, an alien sound, and clasps her hand over her mouth immediately. There's the metal taste of blood on her tongue. She looks down at the cut in her hand, drops the hammer on the floor. How had she not realised she’d cut herself? Still, no matter. She rushes to the kitchen and runs cold water over her hand. It was worth it. It’s all been worth it.

Her heart stops for a moment as she sees her distorted self in the curve of the metal kettle. She looks closer and sees the doppelganger. Her tormentor. She gasps, runs back into the living room and picks up the hammer again.

The kettle makes a noise like a metal drum as she beats it.

And then silence once again. Blissful silence. No more of the voice in her head. All those can’ts, don’ts, won’ts, shouldn’ts, wouldn’ts, couldn’ts. She’d always suspected she could silence her forever. And now she has.

But that night, she wakes to the same mocking voice in the corner of her mind.

‘You shouldn’t have done that,' it says. 'Silly bitch. You shouldn’t have done that.’

And she reaches for the hammer once again.

But this time it is bone she breaks.

Bone after bone after bone.