บท 253: Letting You Know

There I was. In quiet. In solitude. Beset on all sides by porcelain tiles of white. The slow drip of the faucet, every trickle, a ringing in my ears, a hard thump in my chest.

Into the mirror, where stray shimmering droplets clung and dribble, I saw a man, his hardened gaze reflecting back his resolve… the breath leaving him steady and calm. 

Past narrow lips he muttered hushed, speaking to the man that stared back at him behind the looking glass, to me, he uttered, "Don't be a bitch, dude. It's just a costume."

I turned to the side where the door was, and immediately was pelted by a choir of bells ringing above my head, the bathroom walls amplifying the clangor to an almost unbearable degree. 

Whoever's idea it was to put freaking golden shrilly maracas onto a jester's hat needs to suffer for all eternity hearing nothing but dings, blings, and clings. It's only right. It's only just. I hate you, maraca man.