I have to do it today. I’m just too sad to continue.
First I draw the bath, lukewarm. The next step is harder, rounding them all up and herding them up the stairs. They move slowly, listlessly. A few are crying. I look at these misshapen homunculi and although in the past I would almost feel a touch of pride when talking about them, now I feel nothing but disgust.
They’re clustered on the bathroom floor, not trying to escape, just standing there. A few are staring off into space. One is banging its head slowly against the wall. Another is trying to buy something with an expired credit card on a non-existent phone. Sad, really.
I take a deep breath, grab the closest one and with a quick movement, heave it into the tub. It’s not actually as heavy as I thought. I hold it under the water, watching the bubbles rise up, watching the last jerks of life escape that wretched body. When it’s done, I feel better and I grab another one. After ten minutes, there’s a pile of sodden carcasses on the floor by the laundry hamper and I feel fantastic.
Only a few remain when the phone rings. It’s my friend, Jeanie. “Hey girl, what are you doing?” she asks.
I wipe my hands on my pants. “Just drowning my sorrows.”
“Oh sweet. I have a pack of those myself. I’ll be right over.”
The Green-Walled Tower 