Water

          Hot water was burning, irritating the skin, forcing the organism to continue the basic functions, faster blood circulation and sweating.

        The water was soothing. It was killing the sunny pain of the whole day with a completely new pain, making it easier to concentrate.

        Juliana threw the book on the floor and laid herself into the water. She had to tightly and uncomfortably bend her neck to catch at least a dash of the air. She opened her eyes. The white ceiling was blurring and changing its shade like behind a thick layer of tears. The thick layer of the white lather was hurting unbearably, but Juliana was not going to close the eyelids.

        She did not believe in magic, nor miracles, although she needed to, desperately. To believe. She blinked, her eyelashes stirred the water and the bubbles popped. Something as obvious and ideological as their fragility can still be surprising. Her brain should have a rest, instead it was keep on going, going...

        Popping was the border of her consciousness. Unwanted feelings, hidden such a long time ago were waking up without any special stimulation. Juliana was defending herself, building an invisible wall in her mind , but she knew how weak she was.

        She was struggling. Again, the lather covered the eyes and the pain was absorbed by each cell of the body. She would jump out from the bath and the tape would cut off, a slapstick would close for the last time, but something was not letting her go. As bubbles were popping, sand was falling off through the fingers.

        That was it, another metaphor. From her right hand it was falling slowly between her fingers, on the trial basis; for the other fist, on the trial basis as well,  enough was to open the hand and let it fell down it a split second. She remembered that moment. She remembered that then she seemed to be valuable and she felt safe. However it was one of those moments which remained in her head only as ruins. And it was such a long time ago; over two years ans she still remember that scene. She shut all the doors in her head, closed the picture in the darkest room. No more, any-more.

        She laid her body onto its right side and cringed into the embryo position. The struggle had ended. Maybe the blood was circulating faster, the body sweating and tears covered the eyes.

        All of a sudden, the she heard the banging on the door; both in her mind and in the bathroom. Although she tried to defend it, without wasting any time it reminded her about something more. Sand can be also closed in the fist. This thought forced her to get up. As she stepped at the slippery, blue floor, the light shone up and the room was not dark, until the light-bulb die.