Screwed to the wall

When the doors shut and the clickety clack of the key turning in the lock stops and the only sound left is the tip-tap drip-drop of the unturned off tap, I know I am not here alone. In the washroom mirror I see us. Screwed to the wall, mouths agape. Ceramic gleaming and just pristine.

Perfect in our likeness.

The day’s light fades. A lingering shadow slow in its embrace won’t stay. Soon darkness will close in.


Forever faithful

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