Sterile

one of my favorite pieces I've written so far

 

            I sit on the edge of the bathtub while I wait for the water running out of the faucet to warm up. I am in a daze, staring blankly at the muted green tiles. I sit perfectly still. My body is still. My mind is still. The heart—the one that did beat within me-- is still. I know it isn’t possible. I know it isn’t there anymore.  But I can feel that stillness inside, all the way to my core. I turn on the shower and stick my wrist beneath the stream. As hot as I can stand it—perfect.

            My body begins to work again, as does my mind. Not that I think that’s a good thing. Perhaps forgetting would be best. Forget—ha. Might as well ask the sun to turn cold. Nothing is cold but your feelings for me. Somehow the forever you promised me was cut short when I told you my news.

I let the water flow over my body, and for a moment I feel human again. But just a moment. A quick look down snaps me back to reality. I feel the sickness in the pit of my stomach again, like so many times these past weeks. Yet this time it is for a completely different reason.

            I swear I can smell the alcohol on my body. Not the kind that you drink. The kind that sterilizes things. The kind that I smelled in the room with the metal equipment I had never wanted to violate my body. Does the scent linger on my flesh or is it just my imagination? I will never find out, as I soap down my body and am left with only the memories.

            The nauseating smell of antiseptic. The coldness of the table beneath my bare back. The pain as sharp as a knife piercing clean into my very soul. I turn the water hotter, but I am numb. And I realize no heat or steam will erase the pain, the guilt, those pictures burned into my brain.

            I turn off the water and find myself mesmerized with the drain. The water goes down the drain, circling it first. Swirls of water, both clear and red go around, against the white porcelain. It reminds me for a second of a candy cane, before I realize how sick that seems. I watch the last drops disappear down the drain, taking with them what was left of you and me.

           

Reviews

[No one]

I like this piece, especially the subtleties of the language, but I think I am a little confused.

Having read a few of the reviews below me, I feel obliged to say that this doesn't read like a story about a person committing suicide by slicing their wrists and revealing their thoughts as life slips away. (Please correct me if I'm wrong!) The narrator alludes to rape or molestation and a lingering smell that suggests that she (like many victims of rape) cannot get clean, cannot get rid of the scent of her aggressor. This would lead me to believe that the blood's source was an intimate area in need of medical treatment which she is too afraid or too ashamed to seek. However, the narrator uses words that foreshadow a suicide such as
"stick my wrist beneath the stream"

[Angelheaded Hipster]

Where have you been?!?

Now, this is a cool little write, and I didnt exactly know what was going on until the end, which is exactly the kind of reading I love...
Now...my question is this...

Is she already dead on the autopsy table.....or is she slowly bleeding herself out in the tub?

[Gandré]

my dear, this was wonderful! Such a surrealistic psychological portrait of your inner self. Beautiful! I read there longing and sentimentality and I think, you have many good pieces! I know how it is - we are in love with our writings! We feel when we write good stuff. I enjoyed this very much - perfect tonya !!!

[Bubo]

So hope this is not a real account, that awful empty feeling after loss, regardless of how, is something
very hard to cope with............a chilling write, very emotional and makes your heart ache for the woman.

[AK]

This is far too real to be a comfortable read. Skillfully done if fiction, painfully shared if not. Either way this is indeed very good.