She has just showered. Literally scrubbed herself almost raw in an effort to be as clean as possible. Why is it that she never feels clean anymore? She washed her hair three times before using the luxurious deep conditioner, leaving it on for longer than usual to ensure that her hair would be exceedingly soft.
She toweled dry, almost dry, using a pristinely white, fluffy towel and then stepped out of the shower onto the floor of the spotless hotel bathroom. She tossed the towel into the tub behind her and grabbed a fresh towel, wrapping her hair turban-like. She assumed the level of cleanliness in this place would far surpass those of others due to the exorbitant nightly fee. She padded naked into the hotel room, luxuriating in the feeling of cleanliness and warmth.
She had searched for a long time to find a place that fully met her requirements. It is rather difficult to find a hotel with white decor. But she wanted white: white towels, white linens, white duvet. White, white, white. Not so much a color as a lack of color. And clean. Cleanliness was critical.
She wandered over to her bag, removing candles. White, vanilla scented candles. Twenty of them, one for each of her years of life. She placed them around the room, lighting each one reverently, delighting in the heady warmth and scent arising from them. Finished with this task, she removed the rugs from her bag and placed one on each side of the king bed in the room. Moroccan crimson rugs, the contrast striking in the colorless room. Satisfied, she smiled and placed the last item from her bag in the center of the bed and turned off the lights, candlelight creating a warm, inviting glow.
She removed the towel from her hair, mostly dry now, and walked back over to the bathroom doorway, tossing the towel into the tub to join its mate. Her long raven hair draped damply down her back, caressing her scrubbed skin. Padding over to the bed, she luxuriated in the thick pile of the carpet underneath her feet. Oh, the joy of this night. Finally.
She arranged herself cross-legged in the center of the huge bed and opened the case she had placed there earlier. Removing the contents, she reflected momentarily. Such a shame really, she thought as she examined the brand new straight razor in the soft glow of candlelight. Such a waste of white and clean. But ultimately, ridiculously poetic.
Crimson on white.
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3 comments:
Wow,this is how I wish I could write. I don't if you hear this enough, but you can write...keep them coming.
Alando
Few brushstrokes create the story. Were there words? I don't know, don't care either, i only remember shapes, colours and mood. sort of unfraimed painting..cool
I kind of love you.
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