Rinse and Repeat.
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven.
Step one: you open the bathroom door and gingerly step inside. Carefully and cautiously, you peel the clothes off your back. It’s not as sexy as one would imagine. Its not like you know you're being watched. Even if you did know, you probably still wouldn't strip all sexy-like. Not for me, anyway.
Step two: you turn on the shower and go inside. Go through the usual soap and shampoo routine. Nothing special, nothing sexy. You know the drill.
Step three: your ears perk up. What could that noise have been? Oh well, it is quickly ignored. Speaking of noises, another abnormal one quickly raps against your eardrums. Or ones. Several awkward drips ring against the chorus of drops. You arch an eyebrow, but disregard this out of the ordinary tune as well.
Step four: a metallic-esque taste fills your mouth. It tastes like a group of pennies, or sort of like that flavor that wraps around your tongue after you've licked a powerful battery. Its not like you would know; I doubt you've ever licked a battery. Almost anyone else could label that specific taste to a T. The flavor in your mouth, I mean. Not the batteries.
Step five: you spy quite a bit of red. Red red red. It really is a lot of red. This is where the panic starts to nestle into your mind and it creates a nice little home in there. Gaspy breaths; in and out, in and out, in and out, etc. Then the red is the only thing visible. The in and outs turn into a sporadic group of in’s, in’s, in’s, out’s, in’s, in’s, out’s, out’s, in’s, out’s, and in’s.
Step six: you let out a small shriek. You stumble out of the shower and collapse on the bathroom floor. I smoothly saunter your way then loom over your form and smirk. Various ideas flitter through my mind as I see your body convulse and die. I don't know if you believed in heaven or hell or afterlives or souls or anything. But if you did, your soul probably left your body as I leisurely tossed the gun at your head.
Step seven: lucky seven. I open the bathroom door and gingerly step outside. I take one glance back to smirk at the bloody corpse and leave the scene of the crime. My hands are clean.
Rinse and repeat.
Step two: you turn on the shower and go inside. Go through the usual soap and shampoo routine. Nothing special, nothing sexy. You know the drill.
Step three: your ears perk up. What could that noise have been? Oh well, it is quickly ignored. Speaking of noises, another abnormal one quickly raps against your eardrums. Or ones. Several awkward drips ring against the chorus of drops. You arch an eyebrow, but disregard this out of the ordinary tune as well.
Step four: a metallic-esque taste fills your mouth. It tastes like a group of pennies, or sort of like that flavor that wraps around your tongue after you've licked a powerful battery. Its not like you would know; I doubt you've ever licked a battery. Almost anyone else could label that specific taste to a T. The flavor in your mouth, I mean. Not the batteries.
Step five: you spy quite a bit of red. Red red red. It really is a lot of red. This is where the panic starts to nestle into your mind and it creates a nice little home in there. Gaspy breaths; in and out, in and out, in and out, etc. Then the red is the only thing visible. The in and outs turn into a sporadic group of in’s, in’s, in’s, out’s, in’s, in’s, out’s, out’s, in’s, out’s, and in’s.
Step six: you let out a small shriek. You stumble out of the shower and collapse on the bathroom floor. I smoothly saunter your way then loom over your form and smirk. Various ideas flitter through my mind as I see your body convulse and die. I don't know if you believed in heaven or hell or afterlives or souls or anything. But if you did, your soul probably left your body as I leisurely tossed the gun at your head.
Step seven: lucky seven. I open the bathroom door and gingerly step outside. I take one glance back to smirk at the bloody corpse and leave the scene of the crime. My hands are clean.
Rinse and repeat.