Tissue

My eyes meet the tissue box with horror. My heart plummets through my chest, lungs as empty as the box that stood before me. I was almost as offended as I was mortified. Almost.

One would think that out of all places, the opulent Plaza Hotel would replace the tissue boxes regularly. Weekly, at the least! Despite the misfortune, nature was still taking course. My nose was still running. I had to think fast before the snot escaped too far and ruined my ever so carefully applied Chanel No.5 Rouge lipstick. Limited edition, mind you! 

I would rather perish than use the sleeve of my dress, and the silk brocade bed sheets were absolutely out of the question! There was only one other option, the absolute final resort. The thought made the bridge of my afflicted nose wrinkle in repulsion: toilet paper.

I turned towards the now darkened hall. The bathroom light was illuminated like the flames of hell, eager to swallow me whole. I swear I could feel the heat singeing my perfectly plucked eyebrows. The world seemed to slow down around me as I stared at my fate. My heart felt like the boulder of Sisyphus as I took a laboured step forward. My bones rattled as I took the next, I swore I could feel them shatter. Every step I took, I broke more. The blood that once flowed gracefully through my veins dried up at the fifth step, my intestines unravelled at the seventh. My heart was pounding in my ears the entire trek, and I began to think that perhaps it was not my heart. Perhaps it was God pounding at the door, here too late to save me from throwing myself to the jaws of eternal damnation.

Some say God is all good. Some say He is all powerful. Most say He is both. I’m doubting the last one. If He was both all good and all powerful, He would never allow this to happen to me. Either He is not all powerful, helpless in the midst of catastrophe, or He is not all good, tossing me to the devil himself like the scraps of humanity. My righteousness fades as I find myself at the bathroom door. All my prayers for a happy life have clearly fallen upon uncaring ears. 

I entered the gates of hell after what felt like centuries of hesitation. The cold tile that usually felt like millions of icy needles impaling my feet was now a comforting feeling of coolness as sweat was beginning to bead on my forehead from the scorching heat. I locked eyes with the wretched ivory toilet paper roll through the blurring of my vision. The pounding in my ears turned into a piercing ring; had He switched to the doorbell in desperation? 

I practically dragged my decaying body across the pristine ceramic flooring, surely leaving entrails behind me. As I approached my doom, I caught sight of myself in the gold framed mirror that hung above the elegant sink. I met an empty husk of a woman with sunken, mascara ridden eyes and broken, powdered skin, immaculate dishevelment. I had to look away. It's cruel seeing myself in this state, surrounded by all the wealth and luxury I had ever needed, aware that it was all for naught. Useless, it was! Futile!

The universe fell silent as I met my demise. The spineless wretch gave up His desperate pounding and ringing. I suppose nothing can truly stop tragedy. No man, no matter how rich, how powerful, is safe from the sheer will of fate. 

I bowed down and reached to take the hand of the enemy in surrender. My manicured fingernails mingled with the finely folded edge of the sheet as I caressed the underside and pulled another two sheets free from the baroque toilet paper holder, bringing them to the slimy serpent slithering from my nostrils. 

All the world's anguish tore out of my vocal chords the moment the appalling texture of Charmin Ultra Strong met where it was never meant to; where the sun does shine. I plummeted to my knees in agony. I wiped and I blew, the Charmin desecrating my skin more every second. My nostrils were clear, but at what cost? 

There I lay on the bathroom floor, overtaken by a mournful madness akin to Shakespeare’s Ophelia. The Charmin fell pathetically from my shaky hands, surrounding me, terrorizing me.

I ceased my wailing. For a moment I surely stopped blinking. Defeated, I stare at the overhead light, light that I will never reach for I have damned myself, damned from reaching the pale glow of heaven, gracing the hands of God. Instead, I am to dance with Lucifer, damned to meld with vermin, for I am damned, damned!

I must have stopped breathing too as I began to cough pitifully. I find the strength to pull myself up, clutching the ledge of the marble sink for support. I keep coughing, my lungs lament, and I grab the used toiletry off the floor to cough into, disgusted with the filthy heathen I have become but too helpless to do anything about it. I deny my new role as scum, but give into it. What is a woman to do when not presented with any other choice?

I hear a polite knock at the door of my suite. I ignore it just as I ignored the Lord’s hammering. No saviour is coming for me, and if they are, it’s too late. 

Perhaps it is Lucifer knocking this time. Has he come to claim his prize? His fix of agony to feed on? I do not panic. I do not move. I simply sit, ready to be swept away. No fear washes over me, for I have already faced a fate more diminishing than every ring of hell combined. 

“Ma’am?”

Satan knocks again, much less desperate than the pounding of the Lord. 

“Housekeeping,” He mutters meekly. “I’m here to replace your tissues.”