I Hate Mondays

An excerpt from an unfinished story of mine.

 Mondays. Everybody hates Mondays. And with good reason. I woke up around noon and dragged myself to the bathroom to run the water for my bath. Pulling off my nightgown I staggered towards the bathroom mirror. It had already begun to fog up so I wiped away the steam with my hand. I yawned and stared at myself for a moment. I’m disgusted by the sickly looking girl that’s looking back at me. The mirror fogs back up again, and I welcome it --- not wanting to look at the ghost trapped inside the glass.

                I slip into the tub as the water is still running. The warmth of the steam emanating for the water hugs my body and pulls me deeper into its depths. I hug my knees to my chest, resting my head on my knee caps and watch the water level rise. I turn the handle that turns off the water once it is a good three fourths full.

                The water seems warmer today. My pores scream, silently begging for a break from the unbearable heat. I don’t listen. I sink down in the tub so that everything below my neck is engulfed in the flames of the water. The screams are drowned out with silence. A sigh of contentment eases its way from between my lips.

                I wish I’d opened a window. The room is humid and I find it difficult to breathe. My eyes close. Maybe I fell asleep for a moment or two. It’s hard for me to distinguish between sleep, and wakefulness these days. So let’s just say I fell asleep. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes later when I opened my eyes again.

                My mind was still racing with thoughts of revenge for the betrayal I felt. I was sad, I was mad, I was everything in between. I waited for the numbness to settle in, but it never came. The ever present numbness I so often felt was gone without the slightest trace. Oh how I longed for numbness now.

The End

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