Strung Along
Surina Venkat
She shed her clothes like snakeskin, stumbled behind the curtain to mix her tears with water. Relax, she told herself. Her skin wrinkled. Suds popped like soda bubbles. She pasted a picture to the window above her shower, watched as steam curled its edges, made it damp, and then she and Andrew fell to the tub’s bottom. She tried to pick the picture up, but it tore so easily. Like a skin shredded to strips, an ended relationship, and she couldn’t catch all the pieces before it went swirling down the drain.
