#before university

[mushroomgothic]

we’re so back

[thoughtsandpresents]

Chamomile Tea.

She was washing dishes. The sky outside hollered ferocious winds and spat angry pellets of ice.

He was talking on the phone. The road outside was slicked over to a dangerous silver and the edges of the road were invisible in the storm.

Her hot soapy cloth rubbed at a stubborn spot on the dinner pan as the wheel jerked out from under his one hand. The phone dropped from his hand and bounced off the car floor, lodging itself between the brake pedal and the forgiving floor.

Somewhere near her, another phone rang, and she picked it up clumsily with her most dry hand, thumbing for the talk key. She picked up a large and delicate mug filled with hot soapy water from the sink as she said ''hello'' into the mouth piece.

Synapses exploded like car pistons in her brain as neurons collapsed in on themselves like windshields.

Her heart broke open like the china mug, spilling hot and wet on the floor, small pieces clinking and spinning.

It was her knees to hard floor and head to diluted hands as she collapsed below the sink, faster than his bumper to tree or airbag to chest. 

Her nose then bled like fountains, her hot and soapy blood spilling between her fingers, through his broken windshield, onto her floor, and onto his seatbelt.

Neither he nor she would ever wash dishes again.

The end.