When you blink, everything can change in an instant. Butterfly wings, for instance. One moment they're whimsical and graceful, and––click––they're a nasty bug-eyed worm with brown wings.

When we first got the townhouse, it was always so noisy. Not just the people inside, but the sounds it made. The only peace I could find was in the basement.

For hours I worked, toiling away at school assignments. When I finished, I turned off the lights––the room light, first, then the hallway once I reached the main floor.

Today is my last day. Until what, I don't know.

Something's calling me to the attic.

I go to the basement, books tucked under my arm.

Machines whir behind the laundry room door. Tumble. Beep. I keep my eyes down until I've turned on the room light, then plop on the couch to start my work.

There's a little window at the top of the room, to the right, where you can see half of the street. Like yesterday, it's raining.

Today, the rain speaks of vicious vengeance. Thunder crackles, trees groan, wind and pebbles whip the window. I pick up a knit blanket and wrap it around my shoulders, tucking my toes beneath my lap.

BOOM.

There's something there in the window. I tense, waiting for the light to illuminate itself.

Four, five, I count the seconds for the sound to reach me. I close my eyes, white strobing against my eyelids. I didn't see it.

BOOM.

This time, the thunder comes from the laundry room.

Three, four––flashes of white, two blue imprints on my cornea. My hands are stuck to the table. I can't move. I don't know why I came downstairs. I thought it was in the attic. I thought they might leave me alone. I thought the countdown was the countdown to the end. But maybe not the end. Maybe My End.

Beep. Beeeeepppp.

My breathing stops. The laundry machines. They're done. Out of my control, my head tilts up toward the window, a gust pushing my chin up. I reach my hand and slap my face as hard as I can in the other direction.

BOOM.

Two, three––I'm blinded. This time it's not just two circles. It's also a smile.

The laundry room's door is eggshell-ivory. Perhaps a beacon. My cheek stings.

It's at the window. GO.

I rush to the hallway as the lights above me flicker out, burst into the laundry room and slam the door shut. There's no lock but I crush my weight onto it.

Schh. Schh. Schhhh.

I'm hyperventilating, there's a million hormones screeching through my veins, pounding through my heart, I'm going to be sick and oh god I'm going to die.

The light turns on. There's someone right behind me. Breathing down my neck, oily hair dripping onto my shoulders.

The bulb flickers out, and the breathing stops.

GO.

I crash through the door, scramble towards the steps.

BOOM.

One, two––the lights go on, for a millisecond. I see people, packed into the basement room, all staring at me, all smiling, all crying tears of blood.

A scream is ripped from my throat and I climb the stairs like an animal. On the main floor, my little sister is watching TV. My parents are eating dinner, sipping tea. They all ignore me as I run upstairs and lock myself in the bathroom.

Lights off.