Tasha

Three

The bathroom appeared almost flooded by the time Tasha found her way out of the bathtub. She had been woken up by reality - her imitational reality and she needed to escape out of the house as soon as possible. But she had no clothes on.

'Fuck' Tasha squealed, stumbling over the drenched bath mat, her arms open to grab a towel to wrap herself around in. Smudge trotted into the room, agitated, curious as to what was the purpose of all the  commotion occurring. Tasha's actions were too disturbingly quick and breathless for Smudge to cope with - they were unbelievably fast that Tasha even slipped on the soapy water that was spluttered on the floor. Twice. She was only trying to find something to cover her naked self with. Multiple bruises gradually inked on to her bony legs, staining her skin with harsh colours of violet and indigo.

After finally finding her feet, Tasha dragged herself down the stares, her speed and momentum decreasing by the second as her heart pounded fast. Too fast. Her dark tangled hair and freckled nose dripped with water, leaving a trail of small footprints behind her (and soon a few speckles of paw prints too). She grabbed the nearest piece of material her dizzy eyes could find - a sickly sofa cover that had an illusional pattern of squares circling the covers hypnotically. She threw the scratchy material around her arms like a shoal as she felt like a helpless beggar woman. She looked like a helpless beggar woman. Clenching onto the ends of the cover that was cloaked around her broad shoulders, Tasha squatted and crawled out of the open kitchen window as the outdoor breeze immediately smacked her in the face, painfully. Why through a window? Doors were sinister to Tasha.

Tasha rarely stayed in the house - her only purpose to do so was for sleep and to make coffee. That was it. The front and back door of the cottage was locked, therefore there was no possible way in and no possible way out. Unless through a window. Tasha always kept her windows open, consequently whenever Tasha needed to leave her house where all her dangerous thoughts lay and all she needed to do was to slip through the window. And she was free.

Scars. They appeared so suddenly as Tasha tugged out the rose thorns that were stabbed into her calves and elbows. It only took the 'meaw' of Smudge for her to realise these scars. Not the sight, not the pain. Smudge. She glanced behind her to thank her black cat, who was sat on the side of the window, for informing her about the new appearance of the scars that she could then add to her collection that were marked on her destroyed body. 

She glided her frozen bare feet along the grass, her focussed eyes fixated on one and one thing only. The letter box. Tasha approached it with such eagerness that her breathing was getting dangerously out of hand. The air was crisp and caused goosebumps to grow upon her scaled skin, as she shivered dramatically. Too bad she didn't have a coffee with her to warm herself up.

Tasha held open the blood red letter box as her eyes were swimming with desire to identify what was inside. The metallic aroma of the box reminded her of the familiar smell of blood which stained her soul. Wind howled and brought a bundle of flame coloured leaves to flutter across the pathway, as though ice cold hands were aggressively clinging onto Tasha's twigged ankles with a firm grip. It was certainly a chilly Sunday morning. Sunday.

'The post doesn't come on Sundays' Tasha murmured to herself, frowning with a perplexed facial expression. She tilted her head and grasped the rough piece of paper that was tied together with an old piece of string. She held the letter, gently in her hands, stroking it delicately with her thumb as though she were carrying a new born child in her arms.

The sound of the birds chirping caused Tasha's ear to twitch - she admired nature and the outdoors. It made her feel alive. Regardless of the fact that she felt dead inside. A fellow Bluetit fluttered its way toward the letter box, perching itself on top of it with elegance and beauty. It looked awfully like the Bluetit which was here earlier, before thoughtless old Smudge scared the poor thing away. Its yellow stomach reminded Tasha of the gorgeous sunrise as the blue surrounding the golden yellow reminded her of the sapphire sky. She looked up to see many whisky white clouds floating dreamily across the sky like large bundles of cotton. Oh how she wished she could travel on a cloud - she could go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted. And sleep. All day.

Tasha sighed and carefully carried the letter back into the cottage (banging her head on the window's framework along the way). Smudge trailed ahead of Tasha towards her bedroom as she slammed the door behind her. If you put your ear against the door and listened ever so carefully, the only sound you would be able to hear would be the sound of traumatic tears splashing onto the floor. Repetitively.