Rising rage and a hot water hug

After a dizzy night of sleep, bright eyes, sleep and subsequent bleary eyes I shrugged my layers off and headed for the shower.

It was there that my investigative instincts took hold of me. 

It was there that I was met with one rude factoid. 

It was there that a series of unpleasant events were set in motion.

"Rats."

My sister had been at my bathroom supplies like a rat family readying for winter. Gone. She had a way with other people's stuff. And by 'a way' I mean, it was her way: poof, away with anything you loved. These things went straight to a new home, with no way of protest and no way of knowing how long they'd be held captive for. The stuff of cotton's nightmares.

After 2 weeks without her thieving ways, I had almost gotten used to leaving items laying around. I had almost started living a carefree life - one where I didn't feel like a double agent. A life where I didn't have to worry about her scavanging fingers, lurking, creeping - ready to grab at will and with uncharacteristic speed. I had even let the passageway draft slink through into my room, door ajar all willy-nilly. My room hadn't smelt that fresh in years.

Like a bad dose of reality it came crashing down, flooding my body. White hot rage.

I let the warm water wrap around my body, tracing my curves, bringing me comfort, until I practically glowed. Hot water wasn't all they said it was. It was better. My anger had been steamed, pressed and ironed and was ready for someone else to don. It had packed it's bags and moved to the twilight zone. My feelings were neither land mine nor white dove, they were the sand of no mans land. And that dear friend, is why showers are neccessary. Morning, noon and night.