Shower

He slowly slid the the wooden bathroom door open, anticipating the sound of the door hitting the plaster wall for the millionth time. He did this every morning, his ritual. The small glass window was open and the bathroom was unbearable to stand in half naked. He pulled down his boxers, (noticing his pubic hair was a tangled mess and desperately needed a trimming) and kicked them up with one foot and caught it. With his spare hand he lifted the toilet seat against the the porcelain tank. It make a small 'tink'. Closing his eyes he let himself go. He thought about last night, but nothing registered. It started at, what, nine? Ten? He didn't know. It was a blur. The last time he remembered taking a piss was in his pants. That warm sensation still in his mind, the piss trickling down into his shoes. Everybody laughing. Just a vague memory. A dream. He opened his eyes and stared at the off-white ceiling. This is one of the best parts of life. Taking a two minute piss at six in the morning. A butterfly sensation ran up his back and filled his brain, shaking his head, grinning, moaning. The yellow clouds of calcium filled the bowl, giving birth to armies of piss bubbles. The daily incident ceased and he stood on the cold tile, his bladder relieved. He picked up his boxers and folded them, placing them on the closed seat.  He turned around and faced the shower, wincing at the vague light coming through the screen. He stumbled into the shower itself and shut the window. The shower floor was like tiled ice. He stepped out and reached in with one hand and pulled the lever, turning it all the way to the left. The synthetic rain emerged from the shower head and bounced off the ground, splashing his feet. The water was cold, so he waited. He shut the door and sat on the toilet. He watched as the steam built up, floating towards the ceiling and gradually falling back down. He stood up and pulled the door open. Steam punched his pale body. It felt good. He slipped a foot under the hissing water, testing the temperature. It was warm enough, so he slid in. He shut the shower door and it made a loud, annoying 'CLANK' sound. The water sprayed onto him from above, his body warming up. He looked up and closed his eyes. The water was too hot for his sensitive face. It burned his eye lids. He looked down at the floor and watched as his hair transformed from a mess to a straight black veil, covering his eyes. He ran his hands through his hair and pushed it back. Water slid off his elbows like a waterfall. This is another one of my indulgences, he thought. He looked at the floor. There was a dark mist building. He couldn't even see his feet. He grabbed the bar of soap and it slipped from his hands. He cursed to himself and bent down. The dark cloud of steam was so great, his eyes could not make out the white bar. He felt around for it and found it in the center, laying on top of the drain, wanting to join the water down below. He gripped it tightly and ran it around his torso, then his under arms. He noticed a few little hairs stuck to the bar and had the sharp descending water splash it off. He continued to lather himself in the slippery warmth. He dropped the soap again and bent down to pick it up. When he stood after his exploration, he realized the whole room was lost in the mist. He felt a sneeze build up inside in his sinus. He inhaled for air, only filling up his lungs with steam and coughing it back up. He concentrated on forgetting the sneeze, but it still remained, lingering behind his eyes. He chose to inhale through his nose. He finished his cleaning and grabbed the glass bottle of face wash on the window sill. He pushed the nozzle and and the cold jelly shot into his hand. He rubbed both hands together and pressed them against his face. His warm, wrinkled fingers rubbed his forehead and eyes. This feels amazing, he thought and laughed inside his head. His short facial hair tickled his palms. He finished cleaning himself completely but remained in the fake, steaming rain. He was almost done. Reluctantly he pushed in the lever and the rain ceased. Water continued to fall from his head, using his hair as a ladder. Water droplets stuck throughout his body. Immediately he began to feel the cold,  and he yearned for the hot rain to come back. He grabbed the window and slid it open. It was a lot brighter outside. The freezing air from outside walked in through the screen like a zombie. The natural mist from the clouds outside mixed with the synthetic fog inside. Cold fresh air filled his lungs. His body shook. He reached for the towel he though was laying over the door but there wasn't one present. Damn, he thought. He opened the door and stepped out. The lack of warm steam slapped his body. He grabbed a blue towel and jumped back in the shower. He shut the door, savoring the warm steam that remained. He wrapped the towel around his head and obscured his view of the bright light from outside. Violently he shook the towel through his hair, collecting the water that lingered. He finished drying his body and left the shower reluctantly.

Reviews

[ValyrieKiennan]

Interesting snippet of prose. I would recommend breaking this text up into paragraphs. For the reader, you want them to want to read your work, and sometimes this means breaking up your writing into slightly more digestible chunks. Your wording is lovely, and I would love to see what you could do with a more fully fleshed story (of whatever variety; short, flash, novella, novel etc.).

Cheers!

VK