New story (SHort SHort)
Never fear all, this story has nothing to do with my life.
It Goes Without Saying
Henry Mason sits in a claw foot bathtub with a straight razor pressed vertically to his wrist. The tub itself belonged to his grandfather during the Depression. He increases pressure, widening the wound. The vibrant hue of his blood is a surprise.
Within the last month, she left with his kids, he’d lost his job and now, a full week of binge drinking has brought him to this tub. Its white porcelain rim becomes tainted with runny red water. Through the murky bathwater, he can still make out his pale legs. It was little over a month ago that he and his wife had made a last ditch effort to rekindle some sort of feeling for each other by going to the Caribbean. Barely had they made it to the airport before a fight started.
He’s dizzy now; the water has changed from a translucent, sunrise red to a more sinister crimson. Somewhere in the background Monk’s solo vinyl clicks off with thud. His daughter’s face, round and freckled, flashes in his head. Monk’s wild playing style always made her laugh.
By the time the paramedics arrive the water is cold and a deep red has settled around the body. The bathroom and house are in order, save for a few bottles of Jack Daniels. A note is not found.
It Goes Without Saying
Henry Mason sits in a claw foot bathtub with a straight razor pressed vertically to his wrist. The tub itself belonged to his grandfather during the Depression. He increases pressure, widening the wound. The vibrant hue of his blood is a surprise.
Within the last month, she left with his kids, he’d lost his job and now, a full week of binge drinking has brought him to this tub. Its white porcelain rim becomes tainted with runny red water. Through the murky bathwater, he can still make out his pale legs. It was little over a month ago that he and his wife had made a last ditch effort to rekindle some sort of feeling for each other by going to the Caribbean. Barely had they made it to the airport before a fight started.
He’s dizzy now; the water has changed from a translucent, sunrise red to a more sinister crimson. Somewhere in the background Monk’s solo vinyl clicks off with thud. His daughter’s face, round and freckled, flashes in his head. Monk’s wild playing style always made her laugh.
By the time the paramedics arrive the water is cold and a deep red has settled around the body. The bathroom and house are in order, save for a few bottles of Jack Daniels. A note is not found.