Bath Water

• Shairah Dick, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2009

Here I go. Screaming, yelling, dancing down the tap. Forming into a pool of crystal clear water. A couple of waves and the excitement is over. I can feel the breeze as the door is pushed open and those so called people run in. Yelling, hurting my ears. The first one comes towards me steps over and slices through my stomach. The pain stops, slowly, waiting for the next big blow. It doesn’t come. I’m getting splashed and throw over the edge leaving me weak. I can see the brown, murky dirt, painted across my body, creeping towards my face. Now the bubbly shampoo that stings my eyes. The soap that seeps through the tight line of my mouth. I’m drowning in the dirt, I can’t feel anything. The silence is unbearable. Now his hand brushes past my face as I swirl away to death.

By Shairah Dick