The Fog
The tepid water chilled her skin having lost it's heat long ago. She stared blankly at the gritty walls and pondered thier filthiness. Everything around her was crumbling, peeling, rotting to ruin. Yet she did nothing. It felt comforting to be in a room that reflected her mood, fitting.
Her skin began to prickle with goosebumps but she wasn't bothered in the slightest. This was her nightly ritual. She would stay submerged and take all the comfort she could in the quiet sloshing of the water, gently sweeping her hands through it creating a slight rhythm. Sploosh, splosh, sploosh, splosh. She would stay until her husband came in. How sweet he was, he didn't want her to freeze. He would force her to get out, to towel off, to get in bed. Beg her to see a doctor. She would agree as usual but she knew it was pointless.
The fog had rolled in and nothing could stop it.
No doctors, hospitals or medications could fix what she had. She would have to suffer.
She heard small footsteps approaching and managed a feeble smile as the door opened. He was holding her bathrobe. The softness in his eyes made her ache. He took her hand tenderly and pulled her up and pushed her damp hair out of her eyes.
"What have you been thinking about honey? " he asked sadly.
"Nothing much".
This is an original story based on the above painting for 