The Shower Floor (Old Ficlet Turned Ficly)

Her legs were curled up to her chest, her head down on her knees. She let the hot water pound on her neck and back. The tears flowed down her cheeks.

When the tears stopped, she reached for razor. Slowly, she dragged the blade across her wrist. The blood flowed down her hand and mixed with water on the floor. She watched as the water swiftly carried the blood away from her and down the drain. With each drop of blood that disappeared down the drain, she felt part of her go with it.

Finally, she moved her arm out from the water and let the blood stop flowing. She rested her head against the wall behind her and closed her eyes. She couldn’t say she felt peaceful, but what she was feeling was better. She felt empty! She was grateful not to have to deal with the war that normal raged inside of her.

She sat on her shower floor until the water ran cold. Reluctantly, she finished and got out of her shower. She plastered a fake smile on her face for her family and opened the bathroom door.

View this story's 3 comments.