(Note: The nature of the following text may be offensive/disturbing to some readers. I apologize in advance.)
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Flashing. Static. Static…Noise. The camera is focussing in on the interior of a cold grey room. There are tiles. In focus. Out of focus. Clearer. Ah… finally, the camera settles on an object and pauses. A still picture of a white bathtub. It is one of those old-fashioned bathtubs that stands on four short legs. It is standing separate and alone. Forlorn. It is clean and it is white- it is pristine.
The water is running and filling the bathtub. There is some steam, but not too much. The water is comfortably hot.
“No, you don’t want to do that.”
“Why not?”
“The soap will sting on cuts.”
There is sense in that she thinks.
“But I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be. Remember, you have already decided. There is no turning back.”
“Isn’t there?”
“No. You promised. You promised yourself.”
“I will be resolute.”
The tap creaks a little as the water chokes to a stop. She cautiously tests the water with her finger. She draws circles and she tries to deliberate.
“You have to get it right the first time.”
She has this part memorized.
“Yes, vertical, not horizontal.”
“That is right. Horizontal cuts will not work. The blood will congeal too quickly, even in water.”
“Then I will only be scarred.”
“You do not want to be scarred.”
“I feel like I am already scarred.”
Resignedly, she slips out of her clothes and slowly slides into the old-fashioned bathtub. It is warm and relaxing.
“Are you sure this is the best way?”
There is a hint of annoyance in its voice. Its patience is being worn thin. It speaks. It whispers in her ear. Its voice is low. It sneers.
“You could blow your brains out but we have already decided against that.”
She shudders at the thought. The carnal imagery makes her sick. She is nobody’s responsibility. She does not want to be anybody’s responsibility. She never has. Sardonically she knows there is nobody anyway.
The water slowly turns pink, and then bright red. And then slowly darkens.
“Close your eyes.”
She did.
She feels light-headed. She feels energy draining out of her body. She feels herself dropping below the surface of the water. Of the blood. She feels a sudden panic but can not push herself out. She has no power. She has been drained. She is drowning and her lungs are filling with the now lukewarm, dark red water in the old-fashioned bathtub. She was not told about this part. It was supposed to be peaceful…but now…Panic. Anger. Fear. Betrayal.
“Good. Very good.”
It sees the panic. It feels her anger. It feeds on fear. It delights in the betrayal.
It is satisfied. It smiles.
Fire.
The camera fades out.
