Distance. Convenience.
The tap runs with all its might, sudden splats and noises in between suggesting either congestion or the possibility of water shortage. She cries softly now, and at the top of her voice the very next moment. Her throat and tears seem to have an understanding, one taking over the mantle as soon as the other tires out and reversing roles as they go. In parts, she cries and howls – with passing expressions of guilt, anger, remorse, loneliness and bravado on her face – all together but markedly distinct. How convenient it is for men, to just not care and let go. Why can she not be like them, hurtful and still not give a damn? For the past hour or more, the tap has been running exactly like it is now. It serves many purposes, you know. When tired and momentarily decisive as to finally unlock the bath, it helps her wash away her truth. Otherwise, it camouflages her shrills, enough to let them stay behind these walls and yet lets her be aware of her tears, her pain. She tells herself to stop, more out of boredom than anything else, looks up and washes her face again.
Somewhere a few blocks away from her, another bath is soaked in a running tap. Thick ruby layers of blood rush out with striking disdain, sudden splats and noises suggesting a slow death. He lies patiently now, and shivering dangerously the very next moment. For the past minute or more, he has been lying curled inside a square tile box, exactly like he is now. In parts, he cries and howls – with passing expressions of guilt, pain, escape and relief. One decisive moment, he tells himself to stop, looks up and lets go conveniently.
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