Red Lips

The green matted tiles were wet of water with red swirls that slowly stained the empty transparent spaces of the warm liquid. The miniature drains in-between were filled and overflowed and gradually, the floor was flooded that it had no choice but to ooze out from beneath the door onto the thirsty carpet. Even that hole that was meant to take away the excess fluid was of no use; it was suffocated by the mat and will always be. It couldn't be helped; the shower hose was abandoned on the floor to continue producing lukewarm water at a small volume at a time. The mirror was covered with a curtain of warm frost and so was everything else but in a less obvious way for they are not as reflective. In the air, there danced the particles of steam to the music that only they know of and invisible to all other ears. Humid and stuffy, heavily moist and feverish, just enough to drown anyone in this thick vapour but not enough to burn.

Drip and drip, drip and drip, the scarlet dye echoed from the source of life onto the over-damped ground in surrender to the force of gravity. The right elegant lean arm protruded out of the smooth white tub, leaning on the side, with the damaged wrist facing down to aid in the fall of vital fluid. The left wounded wrist remained hidden in the crimson bath, so was the body and the legs. At the edge of the tub, laid the long graceful neck and the head that it holds, connected to the the submerged body. The collar bones under the neck and right shoulders were barely shown as the ruby water tried desperately to hide it. They were like sunken islands or shores attempting to surface to the open air.

Her face faced the white ceiling while her raven hair were hanging at the outer curb of the bath like beaded curtains; if her eyes were not glazed, she could see the mist formed around her, she could have compared and contrast the whiteness of the ceiling like those before and after photos. Nevertheless, she couldn't see because her opened eyes were dull with rays reflected from the yellow ceiling light bulb. Her eyebrows, eye lashes were gathering little droplets of warm dews. Yet, she would not wipe them away as there was no need to do so. Her skin was moist but not of sweat. Her red lips were slightly parted as if she wanted to say something; however, she is forever silence.

If she could speak, what would you ask? Would you ask her on why she drank bottles of alcohol and ate drugs like candy to numb herself from pain before her final leisure? Would you, instead, ask her why she did it in the first place? Would you listen with an open heart without interrupting her woeful tale? After that, would you reason with her on why she shouldn't do it and that life can be more meaningful?

Through those dead lips, you might hear a phantom whisper on how she was hurt by an irresponsible man, who left her soon after a night of passion, who impregnated her, who lied that he would love her forever. If you listened carefully, you might hear the details on how they first met, how he convinced her into losing her virginity, how he promised he would marry her and how he said to her face when she told him that she was pregnant. After that, she might even tell you on how her family resented her, how she concluded into ending her life and how she planned the whole process.

Of course, we would never hear her say this as her red lips are forever frozen in rigor mortis.

Days passed by, her living neighbours complained about the foul smell emerging from the apartment unit and the excessive waste of water that came to dampen the floor in the corridor. It was inconvenient for everyone, that is what they all say. At the same time, everyone start to notice that the young woman did not come out from her home for days.

Soon enough, the police knocked down the door with a bang, greeted by the tremendous rotting smell and a decaying dead corpse with a lifeless infant inside, immersed in the black-maroon water. The floor was scattered with empty bottles of alcohol and her rubbish bin was filled with over the counter drug packagings. Although there was no suicide note, it was immediately concluded that it was suicide.

The once beautiful young lady vibrant with life is no longer pretty in sight.

While the police staff suffered her consequences, there was one thing that strangely amused them: her lips were still red without the help of a lipstick.

Then again, what use is that? She can no longer speak.