Thrall To A Fallacy

Written by Craig Michael Reed

Prologue

October 1st 2009, Swindon General Hospital, around 23:00 hrs

It was a typical night in the A and E department of Swindon General Hospital. The quiet majority of its visitors congregated in a crowded reception area, sitting patiently in rank after rank of hard plastic chairs. A separate small group of alcohol fuelled arrivals made a nuisance of themselves, swearing and play fighting over in a corner by the ranks of coffee machines whenever security were not present. As a result, no one was daring to drink the bitter lattes that the machines produced, preferring to go without rather than pass through this boisterous and unpredictable throng.

Flustered receptionists rushed about, trying to cope with the steady influx and project an aura of professionalism at the same time but privately poured scorn on the new arrivals, a large percentage of them a by-product of excess alcohol consumption.

Many longing looks were cast at clocks and watches whenever a free moment presented itself, willing time to speed up and so end their shifts. The sight of nurses clutching files or medical supplies drew hopeful stares from the seated audience. They appeared to be imbued with a calm sense of serenity as they flitted about in pristine uniforms of blue or lilac though like the supporting staff, they also felt their nerves fraying as their patients became rowdier.

By the toilets, the pine stench of detergent mingled uneasily with more recognizable but equally unpleasant body odours that emanated from behind the closed doors, creating a thick and unpleasant brew, occasionally spiced by bursts of metallic incineration as kamikaze Moths died violent ultraviolet deaths in the wall mounted Insectocutors.

Occasionally, a pained shout would emerge from one of the curtained treatment cubicles as people had their ailments tended to. It kept everyone who was waiting on his or her toes, creating an atmosphere of tension so thick you could almost taste it; as bitter as sucking on a coin.

For Mark Teasdale, he believed his hospital visit to be a waste of time. ‘He was all right’ his macho pride had earlier told him, and he certainly hadn’t planned to be sitting here in the middle of the night when he could be out with his friends.

Yes, Yes, he’d had a bit of a fall the other day whilst cutting down some of the dead branches on his ageing but productive Apple tree. And yes, he’d stumbled earlier that evening as his consciousness threatened to leave him in the lurch but right now he felt fine, never better and what’s more, his evening had just taken an unexpected turn for the better.

“Fell off a ladder” he was busy trying to tell the attractive woman who’d sat beside him, using his hands to emphasise how it happened while embellishing certain factual points like the height of his fall, his miraculous escape and how tough he’d been, escaping with no more than a large bump to the back of his shaven head; sustained when he’d landed on a small pile of bricks, themselves, refugees from earlier botched attempt at bringing a semblance of order to the chaos that occupied his garden.

The young woman smiled in the right places, nodding politely at the man whilst hoping that her silence would grant a reprieve from his incessant ramblings.

“Yep, I was lucky all right” Mark drawled confidently as he slouched in his chair whilst casting quick glances towards the woman’s chest in an attempt at estimating the size of her breasts. He was well on the way to completing a mental picture of them and wondered lecherously what it would be like to cup them in his hands.

She was stunning, young but a real head turner. He estimated her height at around 5’7, just how he liked them with shoulder length blonde hair. Great figure, bout a size 8, maybe a 10 he reckoned with long firm legs and what looked to be nice firm titties. He hadn’t caught the colour of her eyes just yet but he was betting on green or blue judging by her complexion. All packaged in a well-fitted Black trouser suit. The only thing that seemed out of place was her footwear.

Instead of some nice leather boots, ‘God, he loved boots’ she wore simple Black running shoes that looked to have seen better days. Still, he let her off. It wasn’t as if he were dressed in his Sunday best. Marks regret about going down to the hospital had melted away the moment she’d sat down next to him, watching as she ignored a bank of more accessible chairs in favour of those at his location, watching raptly as her beautiful arse had sunk towards the chair next to his.

He’d noted with lurid satisfaction that there was no obvious knicker line through the thin material of her trousers. Mark had sat for a while, staring into space and contemplating this gleaned knowledge, a single word ‘thong’ pulsing excitedly through his brain and giving him a semi.

The woman threw him another thin smile knowing full well that she’d temporarily lost control of this situation. When she’d sat down she hadn’t intended on entering into any kind of conversation, especially with Mr Pervert. And conversation didn’t come easy for her these days.

She was half tempted to tell the twerp to just leave her alone but worried about making a scene. Right now, bearing in mind her unique condition, she didn’t feel confident enough to escalate this trivial exchange into an embarrassing showdown in the middle of a busy Hospital reception area, an action that might jeopardise what she, ‘it’ had come here to do. ‘It’ told her to remain and put up with him.

Trying at least to throw the man off balance she countered with an awkward statement, hoping to sabotage the well-oiled machine that was his mouth.

“I bet your wife is worried about you being here” she said stiffly.

A brief pause ensued while the man momentarily shifted the cogs in his brain, seeking to come up with some kind of non- committal reply. Yes, he had a wife and two kids but this was just a bit of harmless flirting wasn’t it. The way it was going, he reckoned he’d have the woman’s phone number before this night was out. ‘Mark you Ol dog’, he thought to himself and his erection stiffened with excitement.

Positioning his left hand in the folds of his jacket so as to hide his wedding band and the slight bulge in his trousers he ploughed on with his story, much to her dismay.

“Ah well, you know. She nagged me to come down here. Honestly, I’m just here to keep her quiet. Going through a rough patch we are. You know how it is” he said, lowering his voice and inclining his head towards her as if she were a secret confidant, noting at the same time that she did not possess a wedding band of her own.

Sighing inwardly and trying hard not to roll her eyes at this often heard but rarely believed reply she offered a sympathetic smile.

“Marriages. You have to work at them. No doubt you’ll be in a rush to get back to your kids. They’ll be worried about you too”

Mercifully, a tannoy message interrupted the majority of his next reply. However, even with her limited experience in flirting, this man was very bad at it. And judging by his overt lewdness and almost obstinate dismissal of her body language, which definitely read as ‘not interested’, he was either too ignorant or self-centred to realise. Maybe, he was just plain stupid.

How many ‘ fuck off’ signals could she give off short of punching the man in his oversized gob? And what was this! Unbelievably, the man had extended his hand in her direction, enthusiastic expectancy on his face.

“Mark” he pronounced confidently, again casting a poorly disguised glance at the V of her blouse, no doubt searching for a glimpse of her bra.

She stared at the proffered hand for what seemed like an eternity. She’d seen Mark hide his wedding ring. Saw through his story. Men! The majority of them were so predictable it was a wonder why more women did not abandon their hetero roots and become Lesbians. Still, that may prove to make her exploits easier. That kind of predictability could come in helpful when she needed to deal with the opposite sex.

Reluctantly, she extended her own hand, shaking weakly with as little warmth as possible before returning it to the safety of her lap, out of reach of any more meaningful contact.

And so it went, on and on and on. By now she’d read all the posters, all of the signs, and made a mental note of all available escape routes, not because she needed to but simply to help drown out his boring diatribe.

Her, ‘its’ task required a fair degree of patience and mental discipline but Mark was stretching her possessor’s limits.

Concentrating hard, she fingered the cold but comforting hilt of a huge dagger that barely fit the inside pocket of her suit jacket, waiting for the right opportunity to come along.

Just around the corner from the busy reception area was one of many fire exits, the double doors suitably emblazoned with gaudy green and white signs denoting its location, purpose and designated evacuation points.

As a sad testament to societies trend towards health and safety, personal accountability and a general mistrust in the common sense of its citizens, the door had also been sealed with a simple red numbered tag to prevent wanton misuse by patients and employees who on occasion had had tried to exit through them in search of a quick and crafty smoke.

Whether this seal had been poorly applied or was already broken no one would ever really know. However, the door silently swung open on its well-greased hinges, blowing in a cold draught of autumnal air. Rendered useless, the seal tumbled to the floor.

The door hung open for a few seconds before closing again with a silent swish of its draught excluders.

A nurse, noticing the cold blast of air in the midst of her rapid departure out of one of the cubicles, turned her face towards the door. What that a draught she felt? Checking her forward momentum she changed course and moved towards the door, feeling slightly foolish and a little desperate for a cigarette herself.

Observing the severed seal on the floor she peered out into the night, seeing nothing but masses of parked cars and dark windswept trees. Silently, she cursed whoever had used the door. No doubt, that person was sucking glorious Nicotine into their lungs, yards from where she stood, staring impotently. She rubbed her right arm with her left. It had definitely felt like a draught, she thought to herself.

Glancing at her wristwatch and noting the time, she sighed and went back to her patient, depositing the seal in the nearest General waste bin as she went, never realising its relevance, even when things had gone very wrong.

The Luminon man observed the nurse silently from where he stood. At one point she’d brushed up against him as she’d looked out of the double doors windows, feeling her warmth seep through his cold skin, a small transfer of energy that brought a smile to his thin pale countenance. Her reaction to their inadvertent and briefest of contacts was to rub her arm rapidly.

Despite her destructive habit; smoking, he saw no sign within her aura that she was available to him. In fact, hers was a lovely rose coloured tint. He wondered absently if she knew she was pregnant. Just one of many bits of knowledge he’d picked up over the years on his hunting trips.

He’d used this and other entrances to this particular establishment on many occasions, stalking the hospital like a carrion crow and performing an action that brought very little satisfaction, no delight, and indeed, no reward except to quench his symbionts hunger, a hunger that compelled him to feed regularly, such was its appetite, which was insatiable.

He was old, living longer than normal humans did, a blessing that was now beginning to feel like an unbearable curse due to his advancing years. Now, he dreamt of a time when he physically could no longer endure the rigours of his existence and yield to death, allowing him to rest; a yearning no different to one the nurse had just experienced judging by the subtle change to her aura around her head.

If only his needs were as simple as Nicotine. The Luminon, like every other creature that walked the Earth… needed to feed. Humanity, rightly or wrongly, were his primary prey although no actual harm had ever been done to them.

He made his way down the short corridor, pausing at each curtained cubicle, passing his unseen head around the heavy plastic curtains, searching, seeking those whose time was nearly up.

Seeing that none of the current occupants were close to death he turned his attention to the waiting room.

The Luminon do not see as we do. Being able to see much more than our limited vision can offer, they can detect the electrical fields that surround the living, along with a multitude of colours, shapes and fluctuations; all of which, mean something to the trained eye. Often, hues would change as people conversed, indicating a mood change, a subtle expression, perhaps of attraction or repulsion. Peering at the masses waiting in the reception area was akin to looking upon a riot of colour, appearing more like a Mardi gras than a sterile room of chairs full of sick people.

When he’d first witnessed such a spectacle he’d judged it to be a wonder. Now, with centuries of such visions behind him, it generated no excitement at all.

Walking amongst us day and night, the Luminon man had plenty of time to look at these subtle exchanges, gaining a broad understanding of how fields expressed and interacted; learning from experience.

This ability, honed over time, had enabled him to seek out not just the sick, the weak, and the dying, those who’s Auras, as the fields were known, had turned grey and black… but also others of their kind.

Sometimes, it felt as if feeding was his sole purpose in life; stalking those that exhibited the tell-tale signs, blackened fields weakened to the point that it was safe to tap into that oh so satisfying reservoir of power.

Ingesting the ambient energy caused no consequence to his victim’s well being so he never felt guilt over his actions. All he cared about was satiating a hunger that in its most acute form had the power to corrode his decision-making as well as weakening his control over his abilities.

Taking his time, he wandered carefully amongst the brilliant colours, examining people in turn.

Some were less than healthy, showing signs of past traumas or current excesses; markers that showed up as grey flecks of varying shades amongst the predominant vibrancy of the main colours. Depending on the actions of their owners, these areas would either dissipate or grow malignant like until their once bright outlines had faded, become sick, black, and available.

Occasionally, fate played its unseen part targeting outwardly healthy individuals who had led exemplary lifestyles, avoiding risk, exercising caution. He’d seen the brightest of auras turn black in an instant, the cause of which still eluded his understanding. At that point, all that mattered was that they were now fair game. Whether they were men, women or children, he looked forward to that feeling of fullness that the instant absorption of his unknowing participant’s energy gave him.

As always, he cared for the welfare of his fellow men. He didn’t want their last memories to be tainted by bearing witness to his pale and emaciated figure leaning menacingly over their prone sick bodies. He suspected however, that his reappearance at the crucial time of feeding was more to do with the creature within. Excited by the prospect of food it could forget to maintain it’s cloak of invisibility; especially when it was particularly hungry or weak. Unfortunately for him, it was happening more and more, the older he got.

It was easy to forget that the Luminon were essentially human. Their sudden appearances around people who were close to Death had afforded them with a derogatory reputation, sometimes being called Reapers by many who simply didn’t or couldn’t understand their true nature. Sometimes, he felt very lonely.

On rare occasions, when he’d been feeling particularly low, he had wondered if any of the other Luminon he’d occasionally encountered on his travels, also felt the same way… this detachment from humanity.

He paused to listen what appeared to be a one-way conversation on his right, a couple of adults, a man and one very bored looking woman. More tellingly, the contrasts between their respective auras couldn’t have been more different.

Actually, the woman had an aura that seemed most unusual, a combination of overlapping colours that he’d not witnessed before and would have attracted further examination if it were not for her animated companion’s own nimbus of uniform Slate Grey that was darkening by the second. The sign of a man that did not have much time left, and judging by his demeanour, did not yet know it!

If it wasn’t for the man’s continual talking the Luminon could have missed him entirely, such was the intensity of the woman’s aura, which was a mixture of searing Lilac shot through with energetic streamers of vibrant White. It managed to drown out many the auras of the people closest to her although it made little impression on the dying mans tarred corona. He moved closer, skirting a line of occupied chairs to get a better look.

Auras aside, it appeared that the woman had no interest in the male whatsoever. She…

The Luminon stopped still.

The woman appeared to be looking directly at him. Into his eyes!

Shock flooded his system, an emotion he’d not felt since he’d agreed to become.

Like a statue, he maintained his pose until the woman’s eyes moved off, away and towards to the reception desk.

Sighing with relief the Luminon relaxed, continuing to gaze at the woman for a short time while trying to make sense of the unease he felt.

People cannot see us. Not whilst we are camouflaged, he reasoned. Surely that was the way of things. Was it possible that this woman was somehow different? Aura aside, she did not appear to be a threat. So… why did he feel uneasy?

He shook the notion aside. He was being ridiculous…wasn’t he?

Gaining a measure of his usual self-control he edged towards the man making a point of approaching from the left, away from the woman.

Closer. Closer, until he stood on the right shoulder of the dying man. Inevitably, and at the worst possible time, part of his mask involuntarily slipped as the symbiont became excited, revealing his bony face and body.

Turning his head away from the woman, the man became aware of the Luminon mans presence, his mouth reacting before his dying brain caught up.

“Scuze me mate but do you mind?” Mark mouthed arrogantly at the man who’d just materialized next to him, his confident swagger evaporating when he did a double take and realised that the figure looking down at him had no arms or legs, and because of this, seemed to be suspended in mid air.

A youth, dressed in a designer hoodie turned around in a chair directly in front to stare at his challenger, a sneer decorating his pock marked features. From his vantage point, he was unable to see the exposed Luminon’s face and chest.

“You talking to me?” he asked almost lazily in stark contrast to his aggressive expression.

Incredulity dawned on Marks face as he realized that the youth could not see what he was seeing.

Not bothering to answer him Mark stared back up at the Luminon, feeling deliriously as if he’d been immersed in a bad dream.

“Fucking weirdo” The youth concluded, getting up and slouching off towards the coffee machine, casting a steely look over his sloping shoulders at Mark as he went, a look that Mark never registered in his private terror.

“Fuck me, what the fuck are you?” Mark managed to stammer weakly before sheer fright struck him silent apart from incoherent moaning.

To Mark the figure standing above him appeared emaciated to the point of being skeletal with sunken cheekbones, non existent lips that barely covered the forest of overlarge teeth that protruded from receded gums, grey and chipped with age. Its chest was equally thin with protruding ribs encased in a dirty grey sheath of skin that was stretched, almost to the point of translucency across its narrow breastbone.

Seeking to put as much immediate distance from this unwholesome apparition as possible, Mark instinctively threw his weight back, his adrenaline flowing, and his heart chugging away like a runaway express. He and his chair flew back violently, sending the both of them crashing onto the polished tile floor with a plastic and metal squeal of protest, persuading anyone in close proximity to vacate and move to the other side of the large room, shock and uncertainty creasing their faces.

Forcing himself to calm down and reassert control, the Luminon completely restored his cloak of invisibility in time to avoid being seen by the large group on gathered onlookers.

Untangling his rubbery limbs from the metal legs of his chair, Mark attempted to push himself away, feet sliding uncooperatively on the slippery floor while his incoherent moans filled the room, adding ripples to a growing wave of anxiety that was developing, spreading like a virus in the tense and fertile environment of the reception area.

The thing…man, whatever it was; had disappeared.

Safe in the knowledge that his camouflage had been restored, the Luminon moved in, wanting to end this quickly. As he advanced, he reached forward, intent on grabbing an outstretched foot of the man before he could escape.

“Ugg…” the Mark managed as he felt a hand close around his ankle in a crushing embrace, pulling him closer. Realising that his chance to escape had disappeared, the terrified man relaxed, venting his bladder in a moment of embarrassment.

The Luminon felt shame for the fear his mistake had caused. However, what was done was done and nothing could change that now. The feeding would be over in a matter of moments.

He reached over with his other hand and drew it slowly through the blackened nimbus, beginning to feel an influx of energy seep up his arm and into the welcoming embrace of his expectant symbiont.

The Luminon closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and enjoyed the sensation, the feeling of bliss that the meal provided.

Then…

Pain! Glassy, exquisite… and impossible to ignore.

A feeling he hadn’t felt since before his becoming. He felt something twist inside his chest. The sensation of things giving way, of blood venting itself, streaming down his back in a boiling torrent to pool on the floor.

He looked down to find a sharp golden metal point protruding out of his pallid torso, drops of blood swelling on its tip before falling off into splatter the floor. Felt things give inside him as the object that had been impaled through his body was forcefully withdrawn. More blood fell.

Consciousness fading rapidly, the Luminon managed to turn around on rubbery legs to face his attacker, astonishment written over his face, before collapsing onto his knees. Somehow, his desperate hands managed to grasp onto the back of one the chairs in front of him, preventing him from falling completely and allowing him a chance to view his attacker.

He looked up into the woman’s piercing blue eyes searching within them for an explanation, trying to understand what and why this was happening. In the background he could hear shrieks developing although with his rapidly deteriorating senses he couldn’t pinpoint where exactly.

Her eyes betrayed nothing except perhaps, a naked hatred, a trace of a smile playing with the corners of her mouth, the only other indicator for him to draw any conclusions. He had known that something was wrong with her.

If only… he’d heeded his own instincts.

His vision was dimming, the steady patter of his lifeblood slowing. The pain subsided and his concept of time ceased to be. All… became dark.

The corpse of the Luminon man collapsed to the floor, sunken eyes lifeless, purpose draining from the ruins of a wasted body that was already desiccating before her, ‘its’ eyes. The hunter was pleased but this emotion was tempered by an unwelcome feeling of revulsion from the body’s true owner. It delivered a mental punch to silence the dissenting voice before admiring its handiwork.

She’d been able to slip the Brass dagger back into her jacket the moment she’d ripped it’s dripping golden length from the Reapers torso, without it being seen.

Now for the part her host looked forward to in particular, the destruction of the filth that lay inside its host. Stooping quickly she plunged one of her hands into the open wound, searching.

She didn’t have to search for long amongst the wet and inanimate flesh. Something was still moving, something so vile and despicable that when her fingers closed on its slippery body she shuddered involuntarily. Cold sweat broke out across her brow.

Asserting her grip, she jerked her arm upwards ripping the still moving object from the wound, shaking free more gore to splash unseen over the surrounding chairs and floor.

The woman held up her trophy, her face a mixture of disgust and fury.

This was the first time she’d looked upon a parasite with her own eyes and the thing that inhabited her own body had certainly seen many before. But, for once, they both agreed and registered their disgust. ‘It’ whispered instructions to her reaffirming her own knowledge; learned on many dark nights since her first night alone in a mystery house that had turned out to be the home of her, ‘it’s’ master. Since then, she’d been a passenger in her own body; committing nothing short of murder although the thing inside her would beg to differ.

Shaking her head, mentally pushing any extraneous thought away, she reaffirmed her focus on what she was holding. It was moving sluggishly, looking like some weird bloody starfish, tendrils of mottled grey flesh streaked with bloody gore, and engorged veins pulsing rhythmically with its own black life fluids. A single rudimentary and apparently blind eye opened up to in her direction, yellow, rheumy, ancient, and somehow knowing.

Sickened, the woman threw the creature to the floor and stamped repeatedly on its fragile body, feeling skin burst and hearing liquid crunches beneath her heel.

After a minute of stomping she stopped, lifted her foot and smiled as she, ‘it’ gazed down at what was now a mass of unrecognisable bloody pulp.

One down, hundreds, maybe thousands to go ‘it’ thought. One more killer! One more indiscriminate murdering parasite brought to justice. She stepped out from the pool of dark crimson and turned to leave, noting the strange looks on many of the people who had witnessed her actions. She looked down and saw she’d not escaped the deluge but as yet, no one else could see the true extent of the carnage.

Mark, who had been rescued and now lay on a hospital gurney drifting in and out of consciousness started moaning loudly through an oxygen mask, his eyes drawn to her coat where she’d hidden the dagger, his aura, now as black as night. It diverted the attention of two nurses who had rushed into the reception area; drawn by the commotion. His anguished and laboured protests tailed off as under their ministrations, he slipped back into merciful oblivion, mumbling coherently about zombie ghosts or something to that effect. The nurses exchanged a knowing look and re-doubled their efforts, keen to distance themselves from this crazy man as soon as possible.

How little they understand ‘it’ thought. It wasn’t as if they could see the monster at her feet. ‘Not yet anyway’ With the Reaper dead, it would only be a matter of time before the corpse revealed itself, maybe minutes!

At least the parasite at her feet wouldn’t have any part to play in his passing, feeding itself off the remnants of its victim’s aura like a Vampire.‘ Yes’, she thought to herself, ‘Loathsome’

It wasn’t practical to hang around. Once word got out that one of them was dead, the other Reapers, cowards that they were, would flee the area and she’d lose their scents. If she, ‘it’ was going to be successful in the hunt then she needed to adopt a different hunting strategy, selecting victims at random and despatching them when it was safe to do so and with no witnesses.

What ‘it’ did know was that it was time to go, before someone got brave enough and attempted to stop her. It relished the prospect of a fight, warrior that it was, but its purpose, its reason for existing was clear. The part that had once controlled this body strained against its will, seeking to be placed in custody or imprisonment that would probably end it, and her life. It quashed these thoughts of rebellion and made to leave.

“Excuse me, are you alright?” a male nurse asked haltingly, unwilling to come too close to her. He’d watched the woman jump up from her chair when the man beside her had gone nuts but had then remained to pick a fight with thin air before stamping repeatedly on something.

“I’m fine thank you”, she nodded, a picture of calm before casting one last look at Mark, still slumped on the gurney, drooling. “He scared me and I guess I just freaked out,” she added with a winning smile.

The male nurse, threw one uncertain look at her clothing, murmured something unintelligible and then retreated behind the main reception desk to pick up a telephone. Looking down, she realized why. When she’d impaled the Reaper with the dagger it had deposited a large amount of blood onto the lapels of her jacket, blood that was drying and beginning to become visible. She had to go… now!

Resisting the urge to look up at the CCTV camera, she calmly buttoned up her jacket, cast one more look at her handiwork and then excused herself from a wide circle of onlookers who instantly retreated further, allowing her to pass unimpeded.

Once she’d breached the exit door and embraced the cold night air, the woman broke into a sprint, seeking the shadows that would mask her escape. Away, from the metallic smell of freshly spilled blood, away from Death. Seeking her next victim.

The hubbub in the waiting room died down and things slowly returned to normal. The evening’s disruption was already doing the rounds, becoming more fantastical and inaccurate with each successive generation of gossip.

Chairs were moved out of the way and cleaners were called to clean up a quantity of blood that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere to dry to a tacky glaze on the floor. Eyebrows were raised in surprise as to why it hadn’t been spotted earlier but nobody admitted to owning the congealed mass.

Besides, blood was blood. All of the staff, and the cleaners, had seen plenty before. Maybe someone had suffered a nosebleed and was currently cleaning themselves up in one of the toilets. The cleaners went about their business without complaint.

Like the eye of a storm the calm didn’t last for long. Minutes later, the corpse finally melted into full view.

Amazingly, no one had tripped over the hidden mass while moving the chairs so its appearance was another unwelcome and explosive surprise to anyone close enough to witness this new spectacle of gore. Pandemonium ensued.

The fragile pulped corpse of the strange creature that had once lived inside it’s human host, was unknowingly swept away by one conscientious cleaner, just moments before the bedlam, any traces of its uniqueness diluted and hidden by the soapy water.