Hell's water sprayed
down her backside while the elephant in her hair just hung there, waiting to say something. Beady little eyeballs so minuscule stared sternly into her soul, and shifted the comfort. Their gaze felt like lasers, picking her life apart. She reached for the shampoo as the water turned cold. Everlasting botanicals of passion fruit and lavender did nothing for the layers of filth inside of her. As she watched the swirl of suds and pachyderm slide down the drain, the icy trickles from the nozzle confirmed that even Hell rebuked her existence. It was a good morning.
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AuthorMolly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw. Categories |