I remember when I was first constructed. Oh man, you could blind a refrigerator with my sheen. I was installed into a brand-new home, which was promptly moved into by a couple with a new born baby. They lifted up my handle and water coursed through my body for the first time. I couldn’t wait to see the joy on my new owners faces as I shot water out of my mouth onto their dirty hands and dishes, the euphoric feeling of bits of food and water seeping down into my drain. I could rinse things for hours.

One day, something peculiar happened. My owners put a small baby boy into my basin. I looked into that child’s eyes and said :Hey, you’re going to be great. I caressed his head with my loving stream, my faucet never wavering at the task of rinsing this child of all soapy residue. He was spotless, if I do say so myself. They pulled the child out and dried him off. Then the plug was pulled from my drain and all of the soap and water converged into a whirling vortex, swirling down into the pipes below me.

The next 6 years were routine, but the consistency was comforting. The father would fill up his coffee pot with my water and make his wife coffee before she went to work. She would leave and the boy would always have a glass of water after breakfast before school, preferring my tap over all else. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t flattered. The Father would then take the boy to school and from there drive directly to his work. First the mother would get home. She always filled my basin up with water to do the dishes, the boy gets off of the bus soon after. The father often times had to work very late into the evening.

Occasionally the boy would go to a friend’s house after school. Whenever this happened a tall man would come into the house. He would come into the kitchen and have a glass of my water. Then he would go into the bedroom with the mother. It took me several years to realize what had really been going on but at the time I was young and naïve. I hadn’t even had a single leak yet. The man would always leave through the backdoor, the stench of his cologne splashing against my chrome finish as he walked past me, a smug grin on his face.

On one particular evening the boy had gone to a friend’s house. The mother filled me up to wash the dishes in me and as expected, the tall man showed up at the backdoor, knocking, waiting to be let in so that he may fulfill his bestial desires with the woman I had known my whole existence. She left my reservoir filled to the brim. He stood before me and filled his glass with my water. He quickly gulped it down and walked casually into the bedroom. Moments later the front door handle turns. The father walks into the door. He calls out to his wife. He had finished all of his work for the day so that he may spend time with his family. I could hear a lot of muffled scuffling coming from the bedroom. So could the father. He went to the bedroom and stared blankly at the scene in front of him.

A cacophony of screams emanate from the bedroom after the mother snarls some stupid remark about how it’s the husband’s fault. He bludgeons the tall man in the head with some heavy object and blood pools around his dome as he lies still on the floor. The mother screams in terror and bolts for the door. She makes it to the kitchen and the father shoves her towards me. She hits my edge and doubles over. I could see the fear and regret in her face, just inches from mine. He Shoved her head under the surface of the water with the intent of drowning her, his nails digging into her scalp, blood dripping into my pool.

Eventually she stopped struggling. Realizing what he had done, the father quickly took a step backwards. The mother’s body slumped to the floor in a crumpled heap. The father looks down at his hands, covered in the blood of the woman he loved. He ran up to me, lifted up my handle and washed his hands. Washed his hands of all of his guilt and remorse. He washed his hands of the responsibility. Of the consequences of his actions. He left my water running and he walked right out the back door. I started to overflow, dripping onto the adulterous corpse. The child came home a few hours later and saw his mother on the floor. He called 911 and when the police arrived they said :You’re moving with your aunty and uncle in Bel Air.
Fin.