Blood Bath

“Wake up! you’ve slept in the bath again!” Too much time spent in here, the water froze, like blood run cold. Reaching for the towel makes it no easier feat. Static, towel wrapped around the body, I stand, waiting for it to absorb every droplet, one by one. Getting dressed is such a tedious thing. More so when the blood has to be contained, “don’t stain the carpet !”, the mind exclaims. “Quick! Quick! Before I start playing tricks on you again”.

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The tap is running for a hot bath, the music muffles the screams below, isn’t that where they belong? They don’t belong up here with me, in this room. They must be contained. “Stay there! Remain in the kitchen!”. I hear none and do not wish to. Something jars with the sweet notes of song, but the volume persists in overpowering these reverberating cacophonies, and the hand keeps working at the eyebrows, plucking the extra hairs with flimsy tweezers. One, by one, to the beat of the music. A little humming and a little movement at the feet, I can feel footsteps thundering underneath, as like a herd of buffaloes stamping, or the Mandan’s ritual dancing – ha! what a sight that would be. The vibrations too much felt, yet, the eye never flinches a moment. Time for the hot bath, and sink in it.

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15 minutes have gone past already. Reluctantly, the hand reaches for the towel. Emerging from the bath, warm clothes are worn, the music is turned off and the door opened. Descending the stairs, past the sitting room and the piano on the right hand side underneath the staircase, down the step level, through the arch into the kitchen; someone else has stained the carpets, and the chairs, and the walls, and the breakfast table – 
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I realized I was sinking when my face no longer felt the edges of the water against its skin. I’ve been at it again, look what I’ve done. I’m drenched in my own blood again, as if I wasn’t tired enough already, but what else is there to do but to rid me of this stain again? Rose red. Wash it out, wash it out, and off my skin. And pray, this doesn’t happen again.

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She’s talking shit again, she’s getting inside my head. I know I shouldn’t bother but how can I not? Have I not ears and intelligence? I hear some noises from below, my headache’s growing too strong. Music will make it better. Yes, that’s a good idea, music will make it better. Shut the noises out, shut them out. 
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Rocking in my chair, I put my pen down, the work is done.