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Bath Time
Sunday, August 19
It's a dark, quiet morning.
You wake up, brush the cobwebs from your eyes, and sit up in bed. You get up, fumble around for the switch and struggle as the bright white light overpowers your vision, rendering you temporarily blind for the next few seconds.
The room slowly transforms from a kaleidoscope of colors to physical form in front of you, first the walls, then the other guy on duty, groaning about the light, and next the lockers, and you stumble wearily towards them. You open your locker, no that's the bookshelf, you open your locker, get a towel, grab your only fresh set of clothes and make for the shower.
You're inside the shower now. You decide to take a leak first before stripping, oops, you've misaimed and hit the toilet seat. Never mind that, you'll settle that later. You strip off your clothes, and step into the shower.
The cool water rains down on you, blasting you wide awake, and the pores of your skin eagerly soak up each drop, the water flowing and coursing into the curves and darkest orifices of your body, before reluctantly leaving and retreating into the dark abyss of the drain.
You lather up some shampoo, and proceed to rub your fingers methodically into your hair. Up, Up, Down, Down, Right, Right, Left, Left, Scrub, Scrub, Rub, Rub, one more time now, and you're done. You rinse off the frothy, bubbling concoction from your hair and now you're ready for your body.
You rub soap over yourself carefully, making sure not to miss a spot. You have an important day ahead of you and want to be at your best. You do this methodically too, starting from top to bottom, following a set pattern of movements you've known ever since you started bathing yourself, all with a steady clockwork rhythm to your movements.
You rinse off, and watch as the water swirls uncontrollably towards the dark force in the corner. You step out of the shower and reach for the towel. A comforting flash of white engulfs you, but from the corner of your eye, you thought you spotted something else, another flash of white falling to the ground.
"That can't be right," you think to yourself. You stop rubbing youself dry for a moment and take a look - what you see drains the color out of you, just like water being drained by the imaginary dark force in the corner.
Your clean, white underwear is on the floor, eagerly and indignantly soaking up water with gusto, becoming darker each second. You quickly snatch up the sodden piece of cloth, but it's too late - your only piece of clean underwear is wet. Well and truly wet. Horrified, you think about going commando for a second, then grudgingly put it on.
Your clean, white underwear is on the floor, eagerly and indignantly soaking up water with gusto, becoming darker each second. Just like how it soaks up and drains the aspirations and freshness of the new day. Just like how the rest of the day feels wet and soggy.
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