Creative Writing, in the Shower

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There is silence. Silence everywhere, such silence that the soft sounds created by swift movements happening around me are amplified. The water droplets explode into tiny particles as they hit my hot skin and flow down my body and you can even hear the water gushing into the drain. Correction: swirling into the drain. Gushing has negative connotations, but swirling has an optimistic twist to it.

I look down and open my eyes, allowing the water to pour over my head down to my face. All I can see is my naked, emaciated body. My body is beautifully ugly. I look past my perfections and see everything I hate. I look past the glowing, pearly white skin and past the healthy curves of my legs and muscle because I decide to concentrate more on my oversized feet and huge pelvic bones. When all my books and stationary are colour coded and when my to-do list is in alphabetical order I feel calm. When I do not know what is going on I get frustrated. When I do not know how to control something I get even more frustrated and being frustrated makes me even more frustrated.

I pour the liquid soap onto my sponge. I start to chafe it onto my body. Every day I do the same routine: scrub all the toxins away. Scrub away all the pain I felt today. Scrub away all the hatred I expressed today. Scrub away all the jealousy that brewed inside me today. Scrub away all the destruction I did today. Attempting to scrub away the inner war I constantly fight. With the palm of my hand I feel my legs, feel the smooth, soft, moist skin and get inner satisfaction. I look down again and see how red and flamed my pearly white skin became.

I rub my tongue violently onto my pallet and have that bitter acid taste; it has been there all afternoon and evening. Some things do not just come and go: your mind is no fast food drive-through service either. It has experiences and will not forget about them until you turn seventy and land up in an old age home with the rest of the dying community. No, I...
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