Stepping out of the shower for the third time that day, Toad towelled off. His skin red and raw. He stood there, still feeling the dirt on him. But it wasn’t on him, he thought, it was in him. Under his skin. Part of him. Somehow he’d let the filth crawl in. And there was nothing he could do now to purify himself.

He tied the towel around his gut and stood with his nose against the fogged mirror. Trying to stare inside himself, looking for the source.

The bathroom smelled of mildew. The floor tiles slick where he stood.

Prompt courtesy of the Daily Post.


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