The tub was filled with two inches of water. The outside was covered with a lavender paint, long-since chipped away, revealing the oxidized metal underneath. The left leg was replaced by a busted black-box from a DeHavilland Single Otter seaplane. However, the inside, unlike the derelict exterior, was immaculate. The marble was a pale, yellow-white, but did not look old, it had the sophistication that a pure white finish could not convey; it reminded the man of civilization.
The man had been on the island for six hundred and twenty three marks, each mark usually counting a sunrise and sunset, though sometimes, when he was more despondent, he would go for weeks without a mark. It didn’t matter much: a week on the island was the same as a day, save for his need to eat. He had covered both large rock faces with the small “I” marks for each day, and was running out of room, he estimated he had room left for one, before it made him look desperate, that is.
The rain started half an hour ago. On normal days he wouldn’t mind not showering, he often went for a whole month without it. The streams only ran at a trickle, and were only large enough to collect drink, not bathe in. Plus he had the serious fear that if he were to try to shower in it, he would upset some cosmic balance and the water would cease to run. Hopefully it would rain enough today, unlike normal days when it would rain only hard enough to wet the bottom of the pool before it evaporated back into the unrelenting sky. He had only bathed twice since crashing on the island. Both times because of hard rain. He had learned now, to enjoy the feeling of the full tub, the clean, pure water soaking into him, making his skin prune with joy. The man lay naked in a tub filled with two inches of water.
Before the crash, the man had worked as a car salesman at the Boca Raton Sport and Luxury Vehicle dealership in
His office proudly devoured a large corner of the showroom. It sat similarly to the lavish cars around it: both seemingly out of place and perfectly comfortable with itself. His desk was always immaculate. Its granite black top bare, save for the paperwork the customer would soon be filling out, as well as a picture of his wife, an 18K gold Vermeil fountain pen and a mug that read: The real job starts when the customer says, “NO.” In the top drawer of the desk was a small wooden box filled with cigars. At the end of a deal, the man would pull out one, stick it in his own pocket, then give the box to the customer.
The man turned left knob all the way and left the bathroom. In the bedroom, he gave the Cuban woman five-hundred dollars, and she went out the door without speaking. He turned the whisky bottle upside down and shook it vigorously into the glass, while he watched the steam floated out of the bathroom. The misty sheets wrapped around his face and the glass. He walked back into the bathroom and sat on the toilet, watching the tub fill with hot, inviting water. The half-moon that his lips left shattered as he threw the glass against the mirror, and small bits of both littered the porcelain wash basin. The man stood up and laughed. He picked up his razor from the wash basin, plastic safety sidings already broken off, and dug them deep into his left arm making a trail from the first crease in his wrist down to his Rolex. He sighed as he watched the blood pool on the watches face. He grabs a small hand towel and climbs naked into the tub. He begins to clean the face of the watch in a circular motion before he blacks out.
The man had once had a wife, he didn’t know what he had now.
The man left the shower running, but plugged the drain. He enjoyed the feeling
