In that red world, the first maiden bathed herself in blood.
In that red world, the second maiden bathed herself in milk.
In that red world, the third maiden bathed herself in steam.
They danced with their feet affixed at the center of their respective basins, their long hair (black, gold, brown) wrapped like snake-tails 'round their forms made voluntarily nude in that red chamber. "Please," they shuddered as they swayed, hips tracing circle-edges with each rotation. "Don't make us leave this place."
"It takes three of them, trapped in hell; they don't want to leave. It takes three of them to make one of them, and when they come to us, it is not with pleasure," a great scholar had once written.
At the edges, the fear-mongers laughed, faces buried 'hind their hands.
, Maidens in the Maze.
In plastic jugs (no bigger than the kind a child carries juice in during lunchbox years, and affixed to the side with rope and wire and deep-nail) we placed the collected blood, and it did not leak but instead siphoned downwards through tubes, suction aided by the inward motion of the flesh. The creatures with their faces and hands red in equal measure writhed at the walls of velvet corridor entrenchments between building foundations thick enough to weather any bomb.
▖▚▝▛▙▝ ▛▜▜▚▜▛ ▜▚▞▜▛ ▛ depicting their fingers and bones ▛▖▟▞▟ ▟▚▖▝▛▟ ▜▚▝ made bright blood red.
return to goodbye strangers