An old woman’s ugly morning.

The old woman woke up with an urge. It wasn’t a pain, or an itch, or a stab… just an insistence, a need. She sat up and felt the fluids descending. She knew she had little time.
She was unable to stand up without spreading her legs out wide, and she worried about the consequences… but although she felt the bubbling of the waters within, as she stood up she remained somewhat dry.
“I can do this,” she hoped, and rushed off as fast as she could.
But she wasn’t quite fast enough.
The drops began to blurt forth, forming a rivulet that ran down her legs.
“Please, God! Please not yet!”
The water reached her ankles.
“I’m almost there, for God’s sake!”
The first drops reached the floor just as she entered the bathroom, and by the time she reached the toilet, pools were forming at her feet.
Removing her pants was ridiculous; they were already sopping wet.
She sat on the toilet, and finished emptying her bladder.
She put her face in her hands.
If she hadn’t been alone, she would have been embarrassed, and she was grateful no one was home to witness just how little control she had left.
But she wasn’t embarrassed… and she was no longer frustrated enough to cry. She was just annoyed. Old age had arrived too soon, and it was proving itself to be smelly and wet… a filthy thing that had to be kept a secret.
She threw her clothes in the hamper, and naked, she mopped up the floor.
She tried to avoid the mirror, but was forced once or twice to see a decrepit old hag swabbing away in the nude, the villainess of a fairy tale written by Dante.
When she was done, she stepped into the shower and adjusted the stream to be as strong as possible, and hot enough to blister her skin. She scrubbed herself with almond-scented astringents, as though she wanted to scrape off the skin, and the years that it carried.
When she was done, she stepped out, and hoped that the floor was wet from condensation, and not from something she had missed.
She dusted her body in scented powder, and rubbed good deodorant under her arms, which she powdered again.
She went into her room and got dressed. Her clothes were all stretchy, and easy to pull off; she could no longer recall the days of tailored fashions and flattering frills.
She left her room and went down the hall, entering rooms that should hold no secrets.
Except the one she could not hide: that she had lost her dignity.

via Daily Prompt: Rivulet

5 thoughts on “An old woman’s ugly morning.

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