Down Not Across

by Kimi Goodrich

She sits on the edge of the bath tub, reading the letter over once more before she places it on the toilet lid, grabs a cigarette out of her brand new pack and lights it with the lighter that came free with the purchase. Savoring the first drag that is immensely enjoyable, she remembers that voice she knew as well as her own saying that cigarettes were coffin nails, she laughs at the irony, takes two drags out of spite for that thought, she begins to prepare. As the tub fills with lavender scented water (her favorite), she flicks her cigarette into the sink and listens for the satisfying sizzle of the amber hitting the faucets dripping water while she undoes her robe and lets it intentionally fall to the floor instead of hanging it up. She puts her hair into a long braid and fastens it to the top of her head (neatness in appearance always a part of her perfectionist nature) once it is secure she steps into the tub inhaling the organic aroma of the always welcoming water. Waiting for her body to adjust to the heat she reaches for her newest obsession, admiring its shiny strength and power, now is the time for it to work it’s magic. She uses her left hand first remembering to cut down (not across), inhales a sharp breath as her flesh is sliced apart, wasting no time to feel pain she works quickly and efficiently to get the other arm done, wondering how long it will take, allowing herself to slide down into the poisoned crimson water she tries to take a deep breath... but her time runs out before she realizes that there isn’t any breath left for her to take.


Kimi Goodrich hasn't had much free time to write lately, which makes her sad. She's the author of Mindless Conversations.