Hourglass

She sat quietly on the gold and cream fabric of the chaise, the deep walnut colored legs a deep contrast against the shimmery white robe she wore. Her well manicured nail traced a path across the top of the hourglass, the faint scratching reverberating off the walls of an otherwise silent room. Two taps dislodged the few that clung to the top. They fell against the cool curved glass, slipping through the narrow neck only to fall in place with the others. As the last one landed, she looked up, signalling to her legions to be on their way. She tipped the hourglass over to the sound of beating wings. Watching each soul slide from their world to the next, baring witness to those last few moments before dispatching the angels to gather the souls from their dark graves, was her pentenance for the lives she stole while still on earth.

*** Daily Writing Practice***