Once, I nearly renounced showering altogether. The experience had become too horrendous and humiliating an ordeal – a daily source of dread.
Centipedes lived and reproduced in the bathtub drainpipe. I don’t know how many I killed over the months. Whenever I’d run the water, one would squirm from the grate, its hideous legs writhing, and then scramble towards my bare feet.
Too scared to shut my eyes, I’d suffer through the stinging pain as shampoo burned my corneas, loathing the man standing in the bathroom mirror, naked and dripping wet, pale thighs clenched together, soapy tears streaming from his terrified, bloodshot eyes.
James Marchant-Christy received a Bachelor of Arts in English from Northern Arizona University. His work appears or is forthcoming in 101 Words, Heart of Poets Foundation, and The Society of Classical Poets. His story, “The Red Dirt Road,” was a runner up in The Molotov Cocktail’s “Wild Flash” contest, and two of his poems were runners up in their “Shadow Award” contest.