La cicatrice

bathroom, green and white tiles, robe, sink, toilet, window, night

Let’s talk about my time here in Italy.

Before I take a shower here, I open up a window in the bathroom so that the room doesn’t fill up with steam. About three weeks ago, I turned on the shower head and stepped into the shower, as one does. After getting moderately drenched in water, I realized I had forgotten to open the window, so I decided to reach out from behind the wall of the shower and open the window without leaving the boundaries of the green and white tile shower floors.

After I had succeeded, I turned back into the shower to continue. As I turned, I felt a small scratching sensation on my right arm. I figured I had brushed against the plastic containers suspended on the wall. However, when I glanced down, I saw a gash that ran about 5 inches from my inner elbow to my outer mid-forearm. I looked over at the plastic cups and realized that I had placed my razor, the one now holding a fresh clump of skin between its blades, facing up in the one closest to me.

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I didn’t feel pain until I held the cut under the running water. At this point, it began to bleed and sting as if I had poured rubbing alcohol into the open wound. Every time I removed my arm from underneath the falling water, vibrant red blood would pour out of the four clean lines drawn across my arm. I would watch the blood circle my forearm and drip to the ground before I would subject myself again to the water rushing out of the shower head.

When I finished my shower, I looked for a bandage, but could only cover part of the cut with the few small ones I had. There was no hiding what I had done to myself. Now there still remains a scar from where the razor had sliced my arm. However, although the wound healed, I still feel like I’m bleeding.

 

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