God forbid, you are here.
You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to wake up here this morning.
But you did. And it’s done.
That terrible thing you did. The terrible things you always do; isn’t it terrible, the things the mind conjures up for the purpose of innocence and oblivion?
Stop. Look around. Where are you?
The tile is floored. No. The floor is tiled.
There is a ceramic square in front of you. Rounded, carved into a concave shape. The sink. Above the sink is a pane of reflecting glass; glass to reflect the image of a specter with wriggling cicadas and crickets for eyelashes and grassy clumps for hair. Dew drops, round dew drops instead of eyes and two plump larvae just beneath the nose.
You blink. The specter is gone.
It is you now. You are here in the bathroom; it is you. This is you.
But was it not you before?
You have done terrible things.
A shaking hand reaches up to touch the glass. Is it yours? You think so. But then again, you can only throw yourself as far as you can trust yourself.
Yes, it is certainly your hand. You can faintly feel the cool glass coming into contact with the skin. Good. You still feel.
A terribly small fraction compared to before.
Before you is the reflection of your self and your self is touching the glass, or rather your self is touching your self in some kind of impossible reality wherein your self has not done terrible things.
But that is impossible. You know this.
You find that somehow you aren’t in front of the glass anymore. You are in a long corridor, but not long, as now you are in another room.
You do not like this. You want to leave.
There is a silver box, taller than you, or at least you think it is. A hand opens it. You realize this is the icebox, of course it is the icebox. There are chunks of rotting meat, infested with maggots. There is a bag of hair. Long. Brown. There is a container of milk. It is solid. The icebox is closed.
It is opened again. There are two cartons of eggs, speckled brown. There is a jar of preserves. Fresh. Peach. There is a box of orange juice. It is unopened. The icebox is closed.
Your mind reels. There was meat. There was hair. No.
You are turning away from the icebox.
In the expanse opposite of the icebox, there are two chairs. One is long and tan. One is short and blue. You find yourself in the blue one.
Suddenly, there is a sound. You know this sound from somewhere. It grates at your mind and you barely notice palms pressing against the sides of your head. You know this. You cannot describe the sound but it makes you hurt from someplace deep. Someplace bad.
You have not hurt in a while.
It repeats. You think it is growing near. Is it?
Yes, it is certainly growing near. You still hear.
Eyes fixed on the corridor you entered from.
Eyes fixed on the corridor you entered from.
Eyes fixed on the corridor you entered from.
You see Its shadow first. The sound repeats.
It is a beast. You know this.
It creeps from the hallway. Its jaws open wide. Rotten teeth and seizing worms. The sound repeats. The jaws close.
You need to stop that terrible noise.
It slowly makes Its way through the room, past the long tan chair. Its jaws open wide. Small teeth and pink tongue. The sound repeats. The jaws close.