Immaculate

     I've always wanted to be clean. No, I've always needed to be clean. Dirt and grime will vex me until it has been scrubbed clean. Cleanliness is the pinnacle of all that's good in life. One cannot have a reasonable mind while it's being clogged with disarray. Ever since I was little I had an urge to be clean. It was like a drug addiction. I couldn't go outside. Not with all the dirt. Not with all the clammy, rank people. People seem to think it holds me back. They say I can't enjoy life. But the truth is, I thrive in clean places. People say it's a danger to my health. I always scoffed at their foolish predictions. There is nothing to worry about.

     This morning I looked in the mirror. Not a speck of dirt. Not a speck of grime. A quick glance around the house told me everything was immaculate as I left it the night before. When I am shielded in my domain I'm.... happy. I'm genuinely happy when everything is clean. I take great precautions to uphold these standards. I poured myself a cup of tea. Not a drop spilled on the counter. Not a drop of herb outside the tea bag. Life is good. I cleaned my keyboard, as I do every morning. Then I saw it. In front of me was an audacious article claiming you could never be truly clean. It said we have microscopic bugs in our skin. In our hair. Everywhere. This couldn't be. I continued scanning. There were pictures. Proof. Something had to be done.

      I dashed to the bathroom. Their in your skin. I remembered the words from the article. I have to scrub. I need to be clean. I grabbed my favorite brush. It had the bristles. I scrubbed and scraped until my skin was raw. It started with my arms. Then moved to my legs. My stomach. My back. It continues until be entire body was covered in new, ripe skin. I was happy. Even with the blistering, scorching wounds. I was happy.

     Then I remembered. Their in your hair. Those words echoed around me. I forgot. I grabbed a pair of scissors. I cut. And cut. Until all the hair, all the parasites were gone. But doing this in my new skin was not easy. I cut chunks out of my new skin. I didn't feel it. Not until every fiber of hair was gone, did I feel it. It was indescribable. But, even so, I was happy.

     I then sank down onto the linoleum floor. I looked around me. What had I done? There was blood and fluids everywhere. On the walls. On the floor. On the mirror. It wasn't clean. I tried to sit up. To clean. I couldn't move. But then I realized, blood isn't dirty. Therefor blood can't make something unclean. I was happy.