the lyric
by Sharon Toma
Toulouse/Grenoble, France

With a frantic despair, burning with it's acidy weight the dark glass, the rain beats the windows of the bathroom. In an ultimate start, the heavy polluted drops crash on the indifferent transparent surface, like an unfortunate beggar would knock on a deaf door of unknown people. In the unending night, its the screams, the wailings, the torn cries that hit off the window panes and knock against the coma-like silence of the sheltered inhabitants.

Really, this decried and cursed water is a warning, this far off messanger, exhausted, who vomits the truth, the Apocalypse. Man will come there, faced sooner or later, with the torture, the violence that he has been inflicting for thousands of years on the world.
Drowsing in the misty water of her bath, eyes closed but still aware, Shanne is enjoying the idea of the end so near, she imagines, with delight, the violent death of the worst species, the last on earth.

Men, she'd love to throw up into their faces, or better still, see them suffer at her feet suffocating in pain. Shanne hates them so much that she could never have accepted to be part of these embryons of virus that rot nature... they stink so strongly. The odour is unbearable, they smell like decaying carcasses, the putrefaction, and faeces.

Shanne is awakened by a bad taste in her mouth. She reopened her eyes, curiosly yellow, and tries to swallow the bitterness, when...

In the misty bathroom, sheets of opaque water circulate, like so many satin sails dancing among the invisible waves. The feverish parade frays above the bath where Shanne is lying, her head leaning back, staring at the ceiling. The beige surface is dirty. Even if the large red stain that covers it is entirely dry now, the young girl persuades herself that the damp air revives the clotted blood, recomposing, liquefying into a gel of crimsom viscosity, obedient to the laws of gravity.

The lady upstairs, whose throat was cut a week ago, died after losing all her blood before she was discovered two days later. A butcher's knife stuck in her neck and staked in the floor.

While the rain drums down outside, Shanne dozes off again. Nothing frightens or astonishes her anymore. Not even the pink-coloured water in the bath.

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