Narration Woes 2: Nature Calls

Ruth couldn’t bear it much longer. She stood in her small and long kitchen, more like an alley in shape than a room, with her legs crossed and supporting herself with a hand on the countertop. The tap above her sink dripped steadily, she avoided watching it.

“Leave me alone for a minute,” she pleaded. She’d become used to the voice now, it came and went with little rhyme or reason but it had never obstructed her days. Certainly at first she had thought she was being followed by a stalker, and had been subsequently reprimanded for wasting police time. Mostly it was easy to ignore the constant narration of her actions, irksome yes, but ignorable.

It wasn’t until yesterday when the first real problem had occurred for her. She glanced to the door at the end of her kitchen, beyond which was the bathroom and the toiletry facilities her body desperately craved.

The entire waste removal process had been described, the phrase ‘in unnecessary detail’ never being more apt. Despite no one being around Ruth had felt embarrassed and shamed by the ordeal. She shook with the effort to restrain herself. It was no good, she was going to have to go. She leapt through the bathroom door and slammed it shut behind her.

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