Drinking Water
She was at the sink. Behind us, I could hear the tub filling, water splashing into water. She had started to undress already; her shirt was on the counter. I had never seen my mother in only her bra before. For a moment, I forgot fear, and was embarrassed.
“What happen?”
She pointed at the toilet. I didn’t understand. It was filled with blood. I said “Are you dying?” It was a stupid thing to say.
She pointed at the bathtub. I turned to look at it.
It was full of red, too. The tap, still on, gushed red. Red rushed into the tub and splashed up onto the lower tiles. This was not from my mother, this red, this—blood. I looked at her; she was shaking. I looked up at the ceiling, its ordinary white.
2010 June Issue, prose, special feature, written word | 1 comment read on
The Subject of Witchcraft / Blood in the Water
.
“I ran, but you know well how water, cooling, smoothing, soothing, slows you down. I ran and barely moved, and as I ran, the red was thickening, was following me.”
.
