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Dying Water
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From the dripping water, it looms amongst the shadows as I lay there, untouched, in a warm bath comprised of 99 cent soap and on special purple flower bubble bath.
“Get out of the bath Chloe,” cries my over bearing Mother from the thin plaster wall separating us. I will never leave this bath, I repeat to myself, inside my head. She doesn’t understand. Once I leave the water, once I break its silence with my bare legs, I am back where I had begun and I know I’m not ready for that.
I rest my shoulders against the grey flannel which stretches across the neck of the bath.
The fragrant tap water nestles itself comfortably in the corners of my eyes as I close them. Minuscule droplet’s linger disaffected at the ends of my eyelashes, finally breaking into numerous puddles under my eyes as my eyelids shut entirely.
“Chloe get out of the bath!” my Mother screams. Oh, she always had a beautiful voice, I think instead, lowering my head underwater consequently minimizing her screams to a thousand dull, pensive shouts.
“Away cry my child, in the evening night, those terrible monsters are out of sight,” I sing to myself.
“Away cry my child, in the light of the day; those terrible monsters will not stay!” I continue, posing my hand into the shape of a claw, enacting the monsters wrath.
“Chloe!” my Mother exclaims, her voice reducing to a bloodied rasp.
“Away! Cry my child, in the evening, those terrible monsters are leaving!” I compete, shouting out the echo of her failing voice from the walls, yet it appears I am not shouting loud enough as I can still hear her. The monster.
“Away!” I screech.
“Away! Cry my child” I bellow.
“Away, thy monster!” I beckon.
I strike my arm out of the water and clench my fist over a broken piece of bathroom mirror. As I hold out the blade, I signify a true crimson victory. I submerge my self from the depths of the murky waters and look over the edge of the bath.
Diluted blood flows into the bathrooms drain. Her face, now so peaceful is finally reason free from compassion and protection. “It’s what you’ve always wanted,” I laughed somberly.
I remove the plug from the bath tub. Water escapes furiously down the drain. As the last mils exit its confinement, I remove myself from the bath.
I crouch down naked besides her. I wipe some of the blood from her lips. “Red never suited you,” I said, wiping the excess on a white towel hanging from the bathroom rack.
“I never suited you,” I finalized, grasping the towel, pulling it down.
Like a wedding veil I place it over her wounded body and then called the police.
Just a short piece. Soz from the grammar and spelling.
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"Hubert Cumberdale, you taste like soot and poo."
"Ooooh, that was a treat for the fingers."
"Do you not like my mouth words?"
"rusty kettle...(scratch scratch)... ooooaaaahhhh"
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