The Cleansing

An undulating coil of a thing it hung suspended above the unwitting beauty salivating like a hungry sea serpent.
Oblivious, she washed on.
Steam obscured its ribbed flanks, its miniature mouths, its domed carapace.
Oblivious, she washed on.
The thing had waited all day, almost twenty-four hours to be alone with her, to have its way. Now, it had her.
Oblivious, she washed on
Her scream cut through the street like the first frost through summer; everyone heard her. Yet, even naked and caught unawares, she resisted. With the speed of a cobra, her hand shot up, grabbed the thing by its throat, and twisted it away. That’s when she really let rip.
“Stop running the bloody taps!”
Even restrained, the shower head continued to spit.

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