thirsty: a story circle

She’s sleepier now than she was when she went to bed, but she pulls herself out of her sweat-soaked sheets and puts her feet on the soft floor. Her throat is parched, her lips coated with a thin layer of dried white skin. The muscles in her esophagus clench and release for want of liquid. She stands, adjusting her balance to the pendulous swing of her centre of gravity, then moves toward the kitchen. She digs around in the heaping pile of dried dishes on the rack to find a suitable vessel, the clanging of the dishes and the silverware slowly bringing her out of her post-wakened fugue. The tap of the kitchen sink squeaks when she turns it and a moment later a potent stream of water rushes out her faucet. She fills her glass and takes a long, indulgent swig. It isn’t until she’s had a few gulps that she realizes the water is warm and musty-tasting; a far cry from the cold, crisp water she normally enjoys. She swishes the water in her mouth, feeling the heat dissipate in the soft tissue of her tongue and gums. She lets the tap run a while longer before refilling her glass, but when she does, the water is just as tepid as before. Adding some ice cubes, she retreats to the heat of the day, taking in the sun as her glass cools by degrees.

Logan Bright