Drip! Drip! Drip! Drip! Drip! The dripping sound was relentless; the emptiness of the room amplified the sound of each water drop in the cast iron sink. Drip! Drip! Drip! Drip! Each drop echoing through the room, the walls peeling from years of heat and cold, the terrazzo floors still sturdy, but cold despite the dots of white and black stone meshed beautifully in the pale pink and pale yellow cement floor.

Akwal had been glued to her tiny orange plastic stool in the corner of the kitchen, the orange a bit too bold to shift the dreariness of the situation. Cabinets were hanging on their hinges; broken glass was like a carpet on the floor. Akwal grunted and spat in the direction of the sink, a bit of spittle lingering on her lower lip; her thumb in swift action wiping the remnants away as she ground her teeth menacingly.

She returned her gaze to the once white wall, now patched with the dreary grey of cement bursting in patches across the wall. She leaned back on her stool the force too strong, the stool toppled over; she quickly spread her arms and legs like a frog breaking her fall. She muttered something under her breath and spat again, this time a perfect aim, landing in the sink next to the other dry patches that had formed from previously successful attempts.

She arose from the ground, first with her feet and her hands steadily following, she looked at her stool and pointed at it menacingly as if it was mocking her. She kicked it violently and it skidded across the room. She then bent down and picked a metal shard, it was a pale grey heavy, it looks like a small piece of steel from a pipe.

Akwal inched towards the wall she stared at, and stabbed it with the shard and steadily dragged it down making an irritating screech. She laughed manically. She stabbed it again, laughing louder, shaking her head, her wig fell off revealing a scarred and mutilated bald head now healed. The wounds on her face still a few days old, one eye swollen, black and blue marks now evident running down both arms like sleeves.

She stabbed the wall again, and again and again, then a screeching sound, she went at it for almost 15 minutes, her hands now bleeding from the cuts from the shard. Akwal didn’t stop, she spat again, this time not aiming for the sink. But at the lifeless body in a pool of blood on the terrazzo floor, she laughed again, this time throwing the shard at the body.

Akwal walked to the sink and washed her hands, hissing at the sting from the cuts on her hands, she looked at her reedy arms and then turned to the wall to see her completed works. She read it out loud enthusiastically, each word deliberately, shaking her head in disbelief, expressing relief and sadness at the same time.


Akwal walked to the lifeless body and yelled, “It’s over John!” and spat on him walking away never to be afraid again.