The Dripping Faucet

July 31, 2008
By Ilana Gelb, Bedford, NY

She sat in the bathtub watching the blood drip from the faucet.
The water turned red, slowly, as the clearness bowed to scarlet agony. Suffocated as her cloths stuck to her body, chaining her down, refusing to let go. The mind raced. The heart beat steadily. It was a drum that pounded, swaggering along in its consistency.
The rain poured outside the bathroom window, cracked for some air. She shivered in the ice water, longing for numbness.
Closing her eyes, she reached for the music. Letting it soak her. First, drizzling her scalp. Then, it fell across her shoulders, settling into her lap.
The certain beating of her heart, along with the pitter-patter of the rain, and the drip-dropping of the blood that wasn’t her own.

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