
04-22-2010, 09:31 PM
This short story has been drawn from my old deviantART account and has not been plagiarized. Also note this is entirely a work of fiction.
I stepped out of my robe like it was a second skin, enfolding myself in my arms as I reached out for the shower handle. My pale, almost translucent fingers could only weakly grip the cold steel, and it took a few tries to finally pull it out from the wall. A jet of cold water poured onto my chest, and I cringed and took a feeble step back. Being sick and bedridden for three weeks had made me weak, so weak...
I stepped forward again, testing the water with my shoulder. It was warmer, but I still felt my spine prickling. Biting my lip, I eased my body into the spray, warming slowly. I nearly fell asleep as the water heated up, but my eyes snapped open as the heat became unbearable.
I tried to move away, but found my foot slipping on the wet shower tiles. With a weak cry, I hit the floor with a loud, unpleasant sound. I didn't have to look to see the bruise spreading across my hips and shoulder. I whimpered pitifully, like a wounded dog. Struggling to stand, my left hip burned beneath the bruise as the scalding shower-water burned me. I cried again, a little louder, struggling on the wet tiles like a fish.
Nobody came, of course.
With a massive effort, I finally writhed to my knees. Arm shaking with pain and fever, I managed to press my palm to the steel handle, stopping the flow and sending the reverberating chamber of the shower into silence. With a defeated sob, I laid down once more on the shower floor. The water dripped onto my burning temple, diluting my disgraceful tears as I let the cooling tiles soak up the heat of my fever.
Author's notes: I know this ends abruptly. I've been writing and re-writing this with no real way to end it. I don't want any other characters, and I want it to stay relatively short, but with enough descriptives to really get the feeling of being sick, hot, weak, wet, alone, &c. Critique away.
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