Soap

Distant rumbling from the skies accompanied the sound of rushing water and pipeline groans. The temperature was lukewarm at best, and the streams splintered due to the misshapen showerhead. The woman scrubbed at herself, eyes downcast.

The crimson red had long since slipped down the drain. Now, nothing but an impeccably radiant ivory stabbed her eyesight in the flickering light of the metal room. Unscathed, untouched, it seemed. The sight of her skin made her sick.

Perfectly manicured nails dug their way into her abdomen as she resisted the urge to shout in frustration. The assaulted skin stung slightly in protest, but the woman took no notice.

Turning to stone. Merciless beads for eyes and her heart a hole. Time flies and lines blur.

She couldn't remember when it all happened.

A puff of air - as silent as a ghost - slipped passed her lips and into the bathroom's damp atmosphere. She fought back the burning ripple of frustration dying to bubble its way up her throat as she reached yet again for her washcloth.

For the second time, she attempted to cleanse herself. Minutes dragged on, and yet she found herself no less soiled. The scrubbing against her arms picked up speed. She could still feel it - the hate, the sin, the pain... an incessant gnawing underneath her manufactured, shatter-proof porcelain skin.

Nothing. No added amount of strength, will, or determination could wipe away the screams, the innocent bloodshed, the condemnation invisibly stained and soaked into her cells. She believed in the afterlife. Their souls were tearing her apart from the inside, festering like a rioting swarm of wasps. Her punishment...?

A prison for a body.