Water

"Water. After eight relaxing hours away, my weary body demands it. I jerked the corners of my blue quilt from my dry structure, I was aware of my skin grating against the rough fabric. My feet struck the firm ground with a thud, I must have woken dad up. The bathroom, two short floors down, took me five minutes to reach. There is no private area in my quarters, the hotel I reside in is dirt cheap. The communal lavatory that both the homeless and attendants of the building wash up in, smells like a week's worth of garbage from my sleeping room trash bin. The aroma, so powerful that I could nearly taste it, swam through the cracks of the rusty bathing room entryway. I opened the barrier rapidly, wanting to get the initial stench past. Cautious not to get much dirtier, I tiptoed across the grimy surface until I reached the rack of towels adjacent to the mirrors. I snatched one of the light-colored coverings off and sneaked a glimpse of myself in the shiny surfaces. My light-colored hair was up in a high ponytail, the norm. A pink Victoria’s secret sleep outfit currently clothed my small frame, it was the most expensive article I possessed. I stared attentively into the mirror. My skin took on the appearance of dry, cracked dirt. The connective tissue was spaced into large, rough sections. I touched the peel and watched as it chapped into tiny facets. I turned away."