Bath Water


We’ll you’ve really gone and done it this time, haven’t you? I guess that could be in reference to either you or me- but since you don’t seem to be in any position to answer or talk back-let’s just say it was meant for you. Just for the sake of argument.

How are you doing down there, by the way? There’s still some color to your skin so you seem to be doing alright…all things considered. You know, it was really thoughtful of you to turn on the shower when we got in here-especially to turn it on hot…but I really don’t think the running water covered up anything-the talking maybe, but definitely not the shot.

But, as I was saying, thanks for turning it on hot. At least my death will be a warm one…while yours, well, I can’t imagine the floor is terribly comfortable. And your face…I’m sorry about that, perhaps I didn’t have to use so much force, but hey, you were being a bitch anyways so, honestly,  I’m really not all that sorry.

I wonder who they will sympathize with.  More than likely it will be you-unless you bleed to death down there your side will be the only one heard. That’s one thing you got going for you. But I really don’t see you getting back up again.

You’d think people would come running into a room to see if one or both of us were alright after hearing a gun shot. You’d think so…maybe the running water did its trick, eh?

What? Was that a laugh…or just a gurgle? Can you laugh with a broken face?

There should be music playing, don’t you think? Like in the movies…music makes death seem much more peaceful somehow…I mean, I’m lying here bleeding because you shot me, the water from the shower probably makes it look like I’m crying…what a scene! Where is my choir of crying angels and suffering cherub? But how you’ve made this –and I do blame this, every bit of it, on you, you know- somehow…I don’t know…undignified.

You used to have everything planned out, didn’t you? We always had to do it your way or it wouldn’t work. You could see all the angles better than anyone else, you said. Did you see the angle tonight? Oh, I’m sure you caught on…you brought me in here after all and shot me…with my own gun…maybe you were just going for a bit of the ironic.

It’s strange seeing this much blood come out. It’s almost like it isn’t mine…what about you? Can you still see? From here it looks like you’ve lost quite a bit…was that from me or the fall? Doesn’t really matter in the end though…blood loss is blood loss. At least you’re not awake. I get to watch myself die…how nice is that? Here I am, soaking wet, not even bothering to hold my stomach together and just watching the blood pour out. And talking to you…yes…I guess I’m doing that, no matter how one sided it is.

What are you seeing behind those glassy eyes? Is your life flashing by? Mine isn’t…the past seems to have no bearing anymore…the future just isn’t an option. So I guess while you sort through old snap shots of memory I’ll just sit back and relax as the present trundles by. Sound good to you?

You know, I don’t think I meant to kill you. Even as I die I can’t help but lie and make up excuses, eh? Oh well…so I did, but not like that. I was going to let you die with some dignity. Maybe a slit throat, poison was a possibility. But the way you acted tonight I think it happened the best way it could. My knuckles still hurt. Did I hit bone?

Give me a break…you shot me didn’t you? I think I can hear you breathing, maybe you will make it out of here…you know you won’t get far, right? They brought us here to kill us. Didn’t you realize that? So I guess we just did them a favor.

Or maybe you were in on it.

That’s the kind of thought that makes me want to try and climb out of this bathtub, find my gun and shoot you right in that mess of a face.

But I’m not going to bother to move.

We always knew we were going to die together, didn’t we? I always pictured something grand like an explosion or something romantic like a joint execution. But I never thought I’d beat you, smash you against the counter and then be shot by you. I might have fantasized about it every now and then, but I never thought I was capable. Guess you learn something every day, huh? And the final lesson for your life is…!

Do you remember The Fat Man? The one we got in the men’s room at that really seedy bar? I was just thinking about that…I remember after we did it I kept thinking that dying in the bathroom has to be the worst way to go. I mean, after you shot him his head went right into the toilet…I was always a bit paranoid after that…always watching the mirror if I had to piss in public.

And here I am…dying in a bathroom.

Is this some sort of sick revenge for The Fat Man? You were always pissed that he turned down your advances and followed me to the bathroom…ha…I guess I just have what it takes.

My dog died in a bathtub…did I ever tell you that? My older brother tied his legs together and dropped him into a full bathtub. He beat the shit out of me when I tried to stop him. He made me watch after that with my nose all broken and my dogs eyes bulging underwater as he tried to squirm free of my brother’s hands. I beat him after my dog stopped moving…first time I had ever seen anyone’s blood but my own. My fists hit his face, his stomach. Tears running down my face I hit wherever I could.

That was the first time I remember crying.

I think I should be crying now.  I’m a big boy though- I don’t cry…my father never cried. Mother cried too much.

My brother knocked me into the bathtub and I hit my head against the tiled wall. Blood ran down my face and he turned on the shower and let the hot spray turn my face red.

You’ve really gone and done it this time, haven’t you? I heard him say as he watched me cradle my dead dog in the water.

Even then it would have made a perfect scene in the movies. Picture this:

A young boy, about eight years old, his head is split near the top on the right; blood is running down, mixing with the water so it is really running. The boy’s nose is broken, blood on his lips, cheek, teeth. He’s sitting in the bathtub, cradling a dead dogs head in his lap, he’s screaming, crying. We can see this from a downwards angle, right? To make him look really small…

Then the angle changes and all of a sudden we are looking from the boy’s perspective at his older brother who is smiling.

Older Brother: You’ve really gone and done it this time.

The lighting is coming from behind the older brother, casting a halo around his body but shadows across his face.

The older brother laughs and says: Can you laugh with a broken face? With that he leans down and hits his younger brother hard across the jaw. The younger brother cries out and pushes himself out of the bathtub and into his brother-his fists flying wildly. The older brother hits the younger one in the stomach causing him to double over and gasp for air.

The younger brother looks down into the sink as blood drips from his mouth, nose and the side of his head-he’s marveling at the sight of his own blood. That much blood should not be on the outside.

We see the younger boy hunched over the sink and in the mirror over the sink we see the older brother coming up.

A close up of the younger brother grabbing a pair of cuticle scissors.

We see the older brother’s hand grab hold of the younger brother’s hair and lift his head up.

A quick shot of the older brother being stabbed in the stomach with the scissors.

A view from above: Out of pain and anger the older brother is slamming, smashing his younger brother’s head against the sink and counter. There is no sound-just blood.

The older brother lets go and stumbles backwards and falls into the bathtub, bloody water splashes everywhere. He’s holding his stomach, blood seeping out from around the scissors. The dead dog floats next to him.

The younger brother slides from the counter to the floor-we see that one eye has rolled back. Half of his face is bloodied, pressed against the cool, hard tile.

Everything goes black and comes full circle.

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About litbandit

El Bandito Bibliotequa...or something.
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