Rubber Duckies That Reach Beyond Heaven

I take slow strides, each one bringing me closer to the dark, exquisitely carved door. When I reach out for the handle it bends slightly under my grasp and turns with just a small nudge. The hinges, as old as they are do not squeak. My bare feet, only touched by the torn bottoms of my jeans now find them selves first, on the cold faded white floor, some of the tiles edges have turned yellow and lift slightly off the ground, and scrape my feet. Than the warm shaggy, bright purple carpet. The smell of lemons and toothpaste is stale in the air. The blue water in the toilet on my left is calm and reflecting, beautifully eerie. Slowly turning my head to the other side of the room there is a shower curtain that stretches from one wall to another with horizontal ripples. Bright blue with little yellow rubber duckies on it, if stars shown on a clear summer day, that's what it would look like. Looking forward I see myself staring straight back at me. Reaching out I feel the smooth hard surface of my other self. The mirrored me pantomimes my every movement, as if he is I. Running my hand across the glass like a figure skater on ice I reach the edge, hooking my fingers under a small indent I open the cabinet with a elongated, high pitched creak, as if it came from an old horror movie. The door of the cabinet hits the pale greenish walls with a soft thud. The narrow off white, rusted shelves are over crowded with small and large bottles that bicker when I sweep my hands under them, knocking them off of their comfortable perches. One by one they fall into the empty sink, or missing and bouncing off of the marble edge and rattling to the floor. Than roll away as if they were running from the monstrous figure that has interloped with their beloved homes. Cudgeling the door of the cabinet shut, the mirror shakes and chatters against its self like a scared puppy. Remembering the object in my other hand I clench it firmly and it tautens in my palm. The weight at the other end makes me hold it at a slightly diagonal angle. Feeling the heavy end bounce slightly in the air I draw it back. Looking at my pantomiming self, preparing to do the same as I. Glancing once again at the clear summer day of the rubber duckies from the big shower Curtin in the sky. I bring down the blunt object and strike the fake, yet similar me. Keeping my eyes open I see the round end of the cudgel collide with the same round rusted brown tip of the miming me. With no hesitation on the instruments behalf, the composer was let to have his way with the performance. Sinking into the glass the rounded steel destroyer sends a shockwave of cracks and splits that cover the whole once smooth sheet of mirrored glass. Shards fly back and strike the smiling composer leaving crimson dashes on his face. Bringing the instrument to a draw back, the artist looks at his masterpiece. In not yet contempt he strikes again. This time larger, and more plentiful shards cast off of its built in model and free fall to the sink to join the terrified bottles of medical contraceptives. Only able to watch as the mad composer performs his destructive symphony on their once quite abode. When the music was done, there was no applause, no standing ovation for the brilliant performance of the artist. Dropping the hammer with a loud thump, I turn in a jaded state and stagger out of the bathroom, passing the beautiful blue watered toilet, leaving behind the keen feeling of being watched by the duckies angles on the clear summer day. An ephemeral memory, that seems more like a prolonged period of pleasure.