Roxy: Chapter I

Kaya stacked four sheets of toilet paper and skimmed them rapidly through the running water. She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the mirror. It made her pause. She leaned on the sink, started staring at herself as if a blurred sight of a nose could disguise more than merely a blur. The sink hung loosely on the wall. She thought, if she was to lean harder, it might fall on her feet and break her toes. She grinned vaguely, then went down on her knees and started brushing the floor with the semi wet toilet paper, wiping off hair. Her hair recently started falling off. Her mother couldn’t bear to witness it. And so, Kaya was down on her knees, collecting hair after herself, with a healthy set of curled up toes.

After she threw the hair out in its designated bin, she walked into the living room to find her mother sitting on the armchair where she fanatically sits. Her mother hasn’t sat on a couch ever since the adaptation. She used to say, there is no meaning in getting cozy on a couch if a cuddle is stripped of warmth and that a couch is just a cold and a painful thing. Nowadays, she doesn’t talk much. Nowadays, many people don’t talk much. Words simply lost their meanings as once known in a world that radiates what were once memories, an echo.

Kaya told her mother that it was time and headed to the kitchen. She filled a glass of water, took out two roxies from the dispenser…