Rusty Faucet: Part II

Niall crosses the room to the shower. He turns the spicket with a grunt. Brown water sputters out angrily for a few seconds before becoming a solid clear trickle. He stands under the ice cold water letting it run over his skin. Goosebumps pop sporadically from the pockets of his skin that still have the wherewithal. He doesn’t bother taking his glasses off. He hears the children from down the street laughing outside as they pass by on their way to the river. Niall turns off the water and pats himself dry with the rag next to the sink.

His eyes reluctantly roll over the turned down picture frame as he shuffles over to his closet. He pulls his white blazer out of the mothballs in the back. As he pulls his tie tight, he flicks his eyes to the mirror in the corner and looks away as quickly as a butterfly flaps its wings. He picks up the rotted coffee mug and pushes open the dilapidated screen door to his porch. The sun blazes with the early morning brilliance of a subdued fury.

Niall squints as he utters a low moan of irritation or grogginess. It doesn’t matter which it is anymore. He puts the mug down on the card table and sits in the rocking chair beside it. The rooster crows again. Niall draws in a long, slow breath and a nettled cough rattles out of his throat in lieu of an exhale.