Friday, May 20, 2005
The colour of Rust in Water
Post 69
Light reflects on cold, white, sanitary bathroom tiles. Sharply angular lines of sun cut through the water in the full bathtub.
Porcelain. Clean. Filled. Not white. Mucky, tainted, yellow-brown.
Bubbles break the reflective sheet of water which fills the bath, rupturing the glasslike, delicate looking surface, in to intricate masses of concentric circles. Into waves, then to ripples.
One hand emerges from the off colour water. Water that is now an unsettling brown shade. The colour of rusted water, dripping from a weathered, old tin shed.
A second hand springs out of the water and grips tightly to the edge of the bathtub. An arm , which doesn't keep the momentum, jerks and locks into place as goosbumps form like beads of sweat.
The knuckles whiten. The bubbles lessen. The arms stay firmly locked into place. A body lying in the bottom of the porcelain tub, rigid and tense. Water returning to a smooth pristeen and cold surface - except for the trickle of mucky fluid from the wrists of the bathtub body.
The body flings itself out of the water, propelling itself over the side of the bathtub, ungracefully hanging over the side for a moment before straggling legs grip the base of the tub to push it further, onto cold black and white tiles and a dirty towel.
Water is thrown from the bath as the body writhed to the floor, splashing over the tiles, drenching the towel and creating pools of dirtied reflection.
Slivers of sunlight dance across the wet body thrashing about, until it curls up into a smaller shape, huddles, to find conserve heat, to compensate for the shiverring. It starts to convulse, and the rays of light again creat spots, blotches, patches, and accentuates the goosbumps quickly covering the body.
Vomit is expelled from the mouth, the stomach moves with such force as if being punched, neck arches back and the head pulls away from the brown, yellow, and thick red liquid. It covers the tile with an intense colour in comparison to the tinted puddles.
Drips off the bathtub fall to join the ever growing puddles of filth. The body on the floor is that of a man. He begins to open his eyes and focusses on the speckled light, the white of the bathtub, the black and white tiles and the towel.
The smell of blood, effluence, urine and vomit assail his nostrils. Such a putrid smell doesn't clear his head for thinking. Beginning to moan he attempts to move his limbs. They are rigid, cold, the shiverring doesn't stop or help, and don't respond to his brain signals. Instead, the limbs, extend partially, shake, then he convulses and realises the sensation being felt is the cold from the tiles and a cramp has affected his left leg.
After a few seconds of strange agony from the cramp he slides his body to the nearest wall, slipping in odd directions, and pushes his form against it, leaning, breathing heavy.
He sees a doorway, with a door, ajar, slightly and the outside noises start to filter in his ears. His blurry, water soaked eyes make out the shape of moving objects beyond the door. Car noises filter through the pockets of water in his ears.
Sliding down the wall, he crawls on his stomach over the cool tiles, dragging the soggy form that he is, towards the noise, towards the light that begins to stream through the doorway to the sound of a busy street.
A large sign outside the doorway winks orange neon and displays "Self Service".
His foot brushes agains the towel as his legs straggle behind him. His ears turn icy from the breeze through the door. He turns on his side and grabs the towel with his fingers that are bent, awry, from the cold. Fumbling he tries to dry himself, discovering the sensation of his body messaging his brain that he's alive. As he smooths the scratchy, half wet towel his body shows no signs of scratches, nor bruising and his mind becomes clear but he can't remember how he was. He just knows how he is now.
Cold.
Naked.
Less damp than before, but the disgusting smell and the taste of vomit creates the memory of being in the water.
Icy, silent.........
And one word forms, like a flower, stem growing, leaf uncurling, bud sprouting and petals unfurling to a gorgeous, perfect form.
"Bequeath"
Light reflects on cold, white, sanitary bathroom tiles. Sharply angular lines of sun cut through the water in the full bathtub.
Porcelain. Clean. Filled. Not white. Mucky, tainted, yellow-brown.
Bubbles break the reflective sheet of water which fills the bath, rupturing the glasslike, delicate looking surface, in to intricate masses of concentric circles. Into waves, then to ripples.
One hand emerges from the off colour water. Water that is now an unsettling brown shade. The colour of rusted water, dripping from a weathered, old tin shed.
A second hand springs out of the water and grips tightly to the edge of the bathtub. An arm , which doesn't keep the momentum, jerks and locks into place as goosbumps form like beads of sweat.
The knuckles whiten. The bubbles lessen. The arms stay firmly locked into place. A body lying in the bottom of the porcelain tub, rigid and tense. Water returning to a smooth pristeen and cold surface - except for the trickle of mucky fluid from the wrists of the bathtub body.
The body flings itself out of the water, propelling itself over the side of the bathtub, ungracefully hanging over the side for a moment before straggling legs grip the base of the tub to push it further, onto cold black and white tiles and a dirty towel.
Water is thrown from the bath as the body writhed to the floor, splashing over the tiles, drenching the towel and creating pools of dirtied reflection.
Slivers of sunlight dance across the wet body thrashing about, until it curls up into a smaller shape, huddles, to find conserve heat, to compensate for the shiverring. It starts to convulse, and the rays of light again creat spots, blotches, patches, and accentuates the goosbumps quickly covering the body.
Vomit is expelled from the mouth, the stomach moves with such force as if being punched, neck arches back and the head pulls away from the brown, yellow, and thick red liquid. It covers the tile with an intense colour in comparison to the tinted puddles.
Drips off the bathtub fall to join the ever growing puddles of filth. The body on the floor is that of a man. He begins to open his eyes and focusses on the speckled light, the white of the bathtub, the black and white tiles and the towel.
The smell of blood, effluence, urine and vomit assail his nostrils. Such a putrid smell doesn't clear his head for thinking. Beginning to moan he attempts to move his limbs. They are rigid, cold, the shiverring doesn't stop or help, and don't respond to his brain signals. Instead, the limbs, extend partially, shake, then he convulses and realises the sensation being felt is the cold from the tiles and a cramp has affected his left leg.
After a few seconds of strange agony from the cramp he slides his body to the nearest wall, slipping in odd directions, and pushes his form against it, leaning, breathing heavy.
He sees a doorway, with a door, ajar, slightly and the outside noises start to filter in his ears. His blurry, water soaked eyes make out the shape of moving objects beyond the door. Car noises filter through the pockets of water in his ears.
Sliding down the wall, he crawls on his stomach over the cool tiles, dragging the soggy form that he is, towards the noise, towards the light that begins to stream through the doorway to the sound of a busy street.
A large sign outside the doorway winks orange neon and displays "Self Service".
His foot brushes agains the towel as his legs straggle behind him. His ears turn icy from the breeze through the door. He turns on his side and grabs the towel with his fingers that are bent, awry, from the cold. Fumbling he tries to dry himself, discovering the sensation of his body messaging his brain that he's alive. As he smooths the scratchy, half wet towel his body shows no signs of scratches, nor bruising and his mind becomes clear but he can't remember how he was. He just knows how he is now.
Cold.
Naked.
Less damp than before, but the disgusting smell and the taste of vomit creates the memory of being in the water.
Icy, silent.........
And one word forms, like a flower, stem growing, leaf uncurling, bud sprouting and petals unfurling to a gorgeous, perfect form.
"Bequeath"
// posted by Sooki Monster @ 6:06 PM 
