Post by tcn on Nov 29, 2007 9:10:38 GMT -5
Choices (prose poetry)
"I need a bigger bathtub." Sadie was so meticulous as she sat on the edge of the marble tub, her mind screaming with impatience, her hands grabbing the faucets opening them so that the sound of running water masked her confusion.
Feeling her stomach roll, she took the glass of water from a pitcher left on the bathroom floor. "Tranquilizers, not pain killers." A pretty little pillbox offered her immediate comforting.
Straightening up, Sadie took a step inside the tub, sitting back as she raked her fingers through her hair, then resting her clasped hands between her knees; water continuing to rush from the faucet, sending wisps of steam into the air.
Groggy and blinking back a surge of tears, her eyes focused briefly on the round stained glass window which seemed to be monitoring the scene. Digging her fingernails into her thighs, she looked down at herself until she could see nothing beyond the manageable stream of blood.
The mirror that was fixed to the wall over the sink held her image from different angles beside the actualities of mounting bills and correspondence which fluttered at the doorway, private and immaterial.
"I need a bigger bathtub." Sadie was so meticulous as she sat on the edge of the marble tub, her mind screaming with impatience, her hands grabbing the faucets opening them so that the sound of running water masked her confusion.
Feeling her stomach roll, she took the glass of water from a pitcher left on the bathroom floor. "Tranquilizers, not pain killers." A pretty little pillbox offered her immediate comforting.
Straightening up, Sadie took a step inside the tub, sitting back as she raked her fingers through her hair, then resting her clasped hands between her knees; water continuing to rush from the faucet, sending wisps of steam into the air.
Groggy and blinking back a surge of tears, her eyes focused briefly on the round stained glass window which seemed to be monitoring the scene. Digging her fingernails into her thighs, she looked down at herself until she could see nothing beyond the manageable stream of blood.
The mirror that was fixed to the wall over the sink held her image from different angles beside the actualities of mounting bills and correspondence which fluttered at the doorway, private and immaterial.
and 
all
time for me 
echoes, hope you all are doing well 
