Awash

Awash

Ecstasy came on the heels of color.

Paul clutched to the curtain rod as the kaleidoscopic assault continued, his leg awash in a prismatic swirl that spread like wanton whores across his crotch. Thoughts crowded his head with rabid insistence, the A-40 at rush hour, sense and insanity colliding in an endless loop. He heard the vague, distant pop of his knuckles, his grip tightening in the wake of a riotous erection. And then his support gave way, and he toppled into the tub, the rod clattering to the floor as the curtain fluttered after.

Paul gasped at the sudden chill of the porcelain, but his gaze held steady on the orgiastic flutter of colors that devoured his flesh. His other leg fell beneath the wave as it sped down the limb. A comfortable warmth suffused him as his stomach was conquered by the stain, its touch swarming over his ribs with speckled purpose.

In a fleeting moment of clarity, as his chest drowned in the virulent hues, Paul wondered how the tiny stain had so evolved, but his question went unanswered. The colors enveloped his neck and jaw and slipped serpentine over his lips and spilled inside. He could taste its luminosity, a multitude of flavors assailing his tongue. There was a moment of panic as it flooded his throat, and then a cloying tranquility settled over him.

He stared at the world as though it was meant to be seen: a prism of dancing brilliance. Pigmented tendrils weaved their way along the fibers of existence to defecate their sheen upon the spectrum. The shades of black and white were washed away in the surge of chroma.

And then there was agony.

Paul's eyes went wide as the color drained, pushing its way out his pores. Vomit welled inside his throat and spewed warm between his legs, a venomous rainbow that splattered the tub. The shower's spray pecked away at the colors and washed them out, ushering them down the drain. Paul watched them swirl away and sunk into the tub, spent. It was only then he noticed the paleness of his feet.

His eyes trailed up his legs, marveling at the bleached flesh. He raised his hands to see they, too, had been flushed of pigment. Paul struggled to his feet and cast his gaze to the mirror.

The ghost of the man he'd been stared back.