Clean the air! clean the sky! wash the wind! take the
stone from the stone, take the skin from the arm, take
the muscle from the bone, and wash them. Wash the stone,
wash the bone, wash the brain, wash the soul, wash them
wash them!
Quote from: T.S. Eliot's Murder in the Cathedral
Everything is so dirty. I am dirty. Covered in dirt, from head to toe. Messy dirt, and I can't make it go away.
Dirty blood is on my hands. Blood of people I have killed. Friends, enemies, strangers. Blood of those who were evil, and those who were good, and innocent. Dirty blood, mixing in with the other dirt, pouring down over my arms, dripping off my fingers, and making my hands sticky.
Dirty thoughts are in my mind. Wicked thought of hurting people. Of betraying the people I love, of leaving the people who need me, of forcing the women who trust me. Dirty thoughts that clog up my ears and making so I can't hear right, oozing out the sides of my head and making me feel the constant slithering down my neck.
Dirty words are in my mouth. Words of hate. Words that make people feel small, that make them feel guilty, useless, worthless, like they should die. Dirty words that make it hard for me to swallow, that make me feel like I am always choking, that don't allow me to breath by filling up my throat.
Dirty hands are on my body. Hands of a man I trusted. Hands that touch in places I didn't want them to, don't want them to, and never again will want anyone to. Dirty hands that are always pulling me, pushing me, and tugging me a part, and always there, touching me, grasping me.
I must be clean. I must be washed. I am dirty all over, and I can't make the dirt go away. It's all over me. It's sticky, it's dripping, it's gagging and it's holding. I am dirty...
"Oi, Zel! Why are you taking another bath?"