Prompt courtesy of BeKindRewrite‘s Inspiration Mondays. Lots of great writing if you follow the link.
Dzinski wiped the foggy mirror with the side of his hand. He avoided the accusatory eyes staring from the reflection. A drop of shaving cream went into the chipped porcelain mug. He swirled his brush until the cream churned into a thick lather.
Water dripped from the faucet like the ticking of a clock. The radio hummed indistinctly from the kitchen.
He lathered up and shaved quickly. Dzinski nicked the same spot under his chin as he always did. He swore in a low mutter, but it was more part of the ritual than anger. His cupped hands slapped cold water against his cheeks, chin and neck.
He leaned in against the sink, inches from the mirror.
His fingers and eyes found the scar hatcheted down his lips. The first. Flying ass over the handlebars of his bike. His teeth ripped through the lips to greet the concrete sidewalk. Dzinski remembered the women from the bakery running out, their aprons covered in flour and standing above him, clucking.
The fingers moved to the black pothole over the bottom two ribs on his right side. They travelled along the bones, as smooth as a Montreal road in March, to the matching divot on his back. Dzinski grimaced as the finger probed the exit hole.
With his other hand he rubbed the high pink ridge running sideways along his neck from his right ear to his chin. He thought about the greasy wop with the switch blade. How the knife sounded slicing through the air. How something made him turn his head. How close to the jugular the tip had come.
Dzinski remembered the kid burped a bubble of blood as he died.
His fingers found something new. A small crescent moon under his eye. He leaned in closer, dragging at the skin, trying to remember how it happened. A memory slipped by, as if a trout in stream. He tried to grab it bare-handed, but just muddled the water.
A click too soft to not be on purpose interrupted the ceremony.
Dzinski slipped the .38 from his holster hanging in the towel rack, and stepped back inside the tub, the pistol pointed at the door.