I Used To Write A Bit Of Fiction ...

Some of it wasn't bad (or so I've been told ...).  Mostly it was based on me to some degree or other.

A writing group that I used to link up with closed very suddenly, I never did find out why and since then I've tried a few other things but nothing really seemed to fit with my style.

I'm a rambler I guess ...

Looking through the blog I've been re-reading a few things I'd put back into draft and then I stumbled on this post that I don't think ever saw the light of day.

So I thought ... Why not ...

It doesn't have a title, never did ...

***** 

A tangle of clothes lay in a small dusty pile, incongruous in this room where everything was so clean, so neat and so ordered.

In the moment before her foot sank into the water she examined it closely, covered by a thin veil of fine white powder the polish on her nails slightly chipped and glowing dully, it's shine diminished, it's vibrant colour hidden.

As her toes touched the surface ripples of water washed away the dust.

Drawing her foot out of the warmth she examined it again.  A faint line ran around her ankle, a demarcation line.  Below it her skin was warm and brown, glistening with drops of water.  Above it was dry, filmed with dust and lifeless.

Stepping into the water she slowly lowered herself into the warmth, watching life flow back into her body.  For a moment she sat, knees bent, her arms wrapped around them, hugging them to her chest, head resting on her knees as the tips of her hair trailed in the water.

Throwing her head back she look around her.  The soft colours of the room soothed her, sea green, burnt umber, the palest touch of primrose all brought together in the faded softness of the stripes in the rug beside the bath.

Her breath left her in a long, soft sigh and, closing her eyes, she allowed her body to slide down into the bath.  Feeling the warmth seep along her spine, touching her shoulders where it trickled in two streams across her collar bone meeting in the hollow of her throat it settled for a moment before drifting in a river across her breasts and down across her stomach.

Raising her knees she slid lower, the water touched the nape of her neck and taking a deep breath she allowed the water to consume her. All sound disappeared, replace by the rhythmic thud of her heart strumming in her ears.

Opening her eyes she watched as her hair floated like ribbons of seaweed around her face buffeted by the slight waves caused by the movement of her body. Sunlight streaming through the window touched the surface of the water breaking and refracting into a million pinpricks of light like a galaxy of stars above her.

As the blood started to pound in her ears she broke the surface, gasping for breath, water poured down her face catching in her lashes.  Wiping the moisture from her eyes she reached for the soap.  The scent of orange blossom and calendula hung in a heady mist as she scrubbed every inch of her body, the heat making her skin glow like sand touched by a setting sun.

Finally she stood, the warmth of her skin turning the droplets of water to steam that drifted around her in a swirling, sweet scented mist as she reached  for a towel wrapping it's softness about her.

Stepping out of the bath she walked across to the mirror leaving a trail of damp footprints in her wake.  Her reflection softened and muted in the steamy glass, the pale blue cotton contrasting with the golden glow of her skin and her hair darkened by the water.

A finger drawn across the glass left a trail of true reflection with bright colours and clear outlines, a small section of herself sharply in focus.

Taking the edge of the towel she carefully wiped the steam from the mirror, uncovering her true colours, defining her shape, uncovering herself.

Letting the towel slide to the floor she stood, remembering who she was before turning and slowly walking across to the bath to pull the plug out and allow the grime and the dust to drain away.