the very body


A turn sent the shower wailing. I stood still —my eyes closed—as warm water rained on me. It was so for the next minute or two: me, not moving with just the rush of the water as the only sound here.

I couldn't bring myself to make a move. To pick up my sponge and start bathing. I didn't see myself leaving the shower anytime soon. Or leaving it at all. The water was just too sweet to let go of. It was like an addictive drug.

What made me reach for my sponge was the mere fact that this wasn't my house. And that I couldn't even afford such luxury to begin with.

I scrubbed my body. The smooth sponge, suddenly becoming sandpaper due to how much force I used. I knew, though, that no matter how much I scrubbed, no matter the fact bruises might surface, I would never totally wipe out Piccolo Maestro's touch. I'd been doing that since everything started, and this morning he came close to me, I'd washed up..


Wherever I was, his presence hovered around. I couldn’t make something as
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