Dark Water in a Dark Room.

        I like to write in the dark. I sleep there and dream there. Dark is where my imagination evolves and distorts--terrorizes--my vision. I become naked in the dark. It's my favorite place to be entirely raw. At night I keep my windows open but my blinds closed. My body is unclothed and I'm shivering helplessly, yet, I feel intense potencies of protection and security shrouding me with ominous safekeeping. To eliminate the dark and infiltrate it with light, even with a single flip of a switch, is parricide. The more I shun the dark the more it infests my sanity with horror, so I embrace it and welcome its offerings of optical extravaganzas, spectacles beyond imagination, comfort, home, and all fantasies which become impossible when the light appears.

        My feet soak in dark water in a dark lavatory. It was easy to find my way to the tub from the far side of the hall. Blind in the dark, it guided me with a breeze, the gentle wind I'm always delighted to feel press on my bare skin. The glass door is closed on my side and I stand stiffly above the foundation, water tracing my mid-calves, for a few minutes to enjoy the last of the cold air before I sink down into a steamy pool. I enjoy the burns that come first with my submerging into the shallow plash. It's like being kissed by sea monsters, the first series of imaginative scenarios that the dark offers me over what will be the course of an hour. Among the evolutions of my dream is one of demons worshipping my body. I can really, physically feel them touching me. They bite my breasts so pleasantly and claw sensually at my abdomen. Some are kissing me venomously from my feet to my thighs, but one reserves my sheath for a gentle pressing of its hand against it, as if a demon admires my sensitivity and womanhood. It craves such things. They wont possess me because the dark protects me.

        The burning sensations that come with each touch fade away as the demons swim off and the water begins to hug me softly. I see some of those animals take off towards the ceiling and disappear like gas, so I know they must still be here watching me. I find comfort in this; there are others who accompany me and the dark who fancies their presence as much as, though no more than, I do.

        Out of the window, which ushers cold drafts towards my knees, dark beads, and face (the three things that are above the water), I hear the rain storming violently. My senses center on this sound as I search aimlessly around the room. The nozzle above me stretches for miles beyond where I lay, and the only reason I catch it somewhere in my line of sight is because the moonlight hits it just where it's mounted, and I can with such fineness see soft, blue light reflecting off of it. The dark hates this, and when I grow attached to this subtle light for too long, baleful hexagons of jealous blackness begin to form clouds above my eyes, and everything that the moonlight touches becomes invisible. In covetous retaliation the dark bestows upon me images not as pleasant as the ones before.

        The glass door, the farthest one, slides open and the wheels roar hellaciously, because the dark understands, and disrespects, my susceptibility to sound. The dark has blinded me but I can see the figure in my peripherals, and soon I'm forced to eye it directly. A man, brutish and completely naked, steps silently into the tub, closing the slider behind him and trapping me with him in this small, wet space. His legs are spread over me, on either side of my pressing knees, and as he and his manhood hang over me, he peers down at me unexpectantly but with clear intent. I know who he is but I can't say it aloud, or even in my mind, but I do know. I ponder him for minutes while he stares at me in silence. The storm outside rages and keeps me calm while I'm threatened by this dark man's presence. It's no demon. It is an actual man, one who breathes and has rough, manly skin and manly intentions. After such a long time he finally bends down to grab my waist. I dread exposure to him, but upon contact I'm heated. The cool breeze has gone away and my body is rushing with warmth and expectancy. His hands are tight around my waist, I wish they'd be tighter. Something about the pressure does more than comfort me. What is the dark up to now? It loves to play with me. It will scare me in response to abandoning it, but then it will ease me with luxurious sensations to compel me to respect it.

        The man's fingers press against my cold skin and the force of his arms push my back up against the tub wall, and I look him closely in his empty face. He has no distinct features but I'm in love with his silhouette. It's a man and I want this man to press against me more despite how evil and criminal he is, and despite how he has hurt me. It's the deviance and the pain that inspire my sexuality. I hear the water splash against the walls when he lays himself on top of me. Still, I can't see him, but I feel him and his everything touching me between my legs. I laugh at the dark and its unsurprisingly, sexually offensive sense of humor. "Nothing gets me here," I whisper as this blank man splashes around the water with me, testing the inches of my body, outside and in.

        It's only a few minutes. Before I can fully enjoy myself, the silhouette is gone and I'm blankly staring into the ceiling, listening to the rain dot along objects outside. I can barely make out shapes around the room, but if I stretch my hands above my eyes, I can see their figures. My fingers are distinct but they look abnormally large. The more stare, the more they distort, and eventually all turns to black again. In dissatisfaction, I return my focus to the sounds and take my adventure to the depths of the bath water. Underneath, I hear my heartbeat. Indistinct sounds vibrate around my head, and I test my fist against the wall to hear the gentle knock's reverberating, head-shaking audio effect. If I lean my submerged head closer towards the wall, I can hear all sounds outside as if I'm standing right there on the street. Now there are two of me, one which is blanketed by the warmth of the bath and another which is naked in the street, being ignored by passing cars and unwelcome by the storm.

        My second self returns to me when I raise slightly above the water. Liquid pours from my ears until they're unclogged, and the vibrations that shook my insides are completely absent, although I can still hear my heart pounding in my chest after having nearly suffocated myself without regret. The sounds of the storm and the splashing water are clear again. It's like seeing the intricate colors and shapes of the mountains after a rainy day clears the thick layers of dust in the air.

        I miss the man's presence. Thinking of him, I slip my hand under the water and down towards my cleft, but a new figure above me inclines me to cease any activity. A body is on my ceiling. She, and it is a woman, is not quite mimicking me but I feel her impersonating me. Or maybe it really is me. Her hand reaches down to me and mine reaches out to hers simply in response, but she's far too distant and I'm quite comfortable, lonely as it is down here, where I am. She's glued to the ceiling and I'm glued by fear to the foundation and we want nothing more than to hold each other, to understand each other. I want to take this woman into my arms so badly and I sense she feels this same pain. She shakes in agony and I can unquestionably feel and hear the vibrations in the walls and in the glass sliders. My sister hears them from outside of the room and asks suspiciously who's inside.

        "Me," I call quietly, hoping she wont open the door to see the two of us like this, naked. I hope she doesn't let the light come in and make this girl disappear, but it's my voice that eventually takes her away. I wonder helplessly who that woman was until my sister closes her door, which I hear from my side of the wall. I think it's time to leave. There are no more things I'd like to see in here, and the room is beginning to frighten me. The voices I hear are dull and quiet, though right beside either of my ears. I can really hear them and I'm beginning to think that this is no trick of the dark's. There's something wrong with me. This entire time, the visions and the sounds, they aren't abstract travesties given to me by the dark, they're infestations occurring presently and ever in my mind. The dark makes me see them clearly and the silence, the taunting, quiet tapping of the drops on the window, let me hear the extremities of these mental invasions and I hate this. I'm alone. The dark is an imaginary friend, the demons my false lovers, the man my secret perversions and the woman my inner self, the only thing that belongs entirely to me yet the one thing I cannot comprehend.

        My toes push the cap off the drain, and I flinch immediately at the terrifying burst of resonant roaring coming from the pipes. It blasts my ears, but it keeps the other sounds, the voices and all, from coming near me. I'm laying on my side, hugging a section of water that I keep above my shoulder while the rest of the water slips away into the drain, leaving accumulating inches of bare skin cold and dry. The wind isn't pleasant on me and I reserve dearly the water trapped inside of my arm. I dip my cheek into this puddle of mine and soak my crying eyes into its warmth one last time before turning my body over to, once again, face the ceiling and face the dark. The water pulls down on my body and it becomes heavier by the second, but I feel myself lift simultaneously. That warm substance I had cherished and saved is gone into the pipes and I've lifted to the ceiling.

        It's quite warm up here. Below I ca see myself, immersed in the pool, reaching up to save me, but I feel no need to be saved. I'm up in the air by myself, free and exposed, naked but covered by the dark. I'm open to the whole world but no one will ever know because there is an opaque blanket of blackness covering my vulnerability, so I was safe. Raw and untouchable. All I want is to reach down and save the person below me. She wouldn't be so alone if she would just let me save her, but the water keeps her and she lets this be. I'm so angry with her and her stubbornness, and so hateful towards her that I abandon her, never to see her, or to be her again.