Athel Takes a Cold Shower
Athel loved the feeling of the warm water hitting her scalp and flowing down her back. It was soothing in a very primal kind of way. The water pooling at her feet, sometimes she could almost imagine that her feet could draw up the water into her body. Her arms stretched high, she would imagine herself catching the sunlight and making it a part of herself. There was something divine in the simple design of a tree. They used power from above to draw up the dust of the earth and make it a part of themselves. That material which was once dead and inert was now alive and part of something greater than itself.
Athel reached up to the shelf, looking for the shampoo, when the water turned off.
She looked up at the dripping shower head. “Ummm...”
She reached up and jiggled the handles, but nothing changed.
“Um, guys, I think the shower broke.”
There was a moan of vibrating pipe, then she was hit by a stream of ice water.
“Ahhhhhhh!” She screamed, backing up as far away as the stall would allow. “Holy crap.”
The freezing water shocked her skin. She felt stunned, like she had been thrown to the ground. “Cold! Cold!” she panted as she futilely pawed around and managed to pull the shower curtain about herself, trying to use the thin material as some kind of shield.
Cameramen and stagehands began chuckling to themselves.
“It's not funny! Turn it off! Turn it off! Ahhhhhh!” she yelped, trying to block the icy stream with one hand.
Alder, hearing the commotion, walked in carrying a flask of shampoo. “Is everything all right in here?”
The shower door flew open and Athel leapt out, tearing the shower curtain of it's rings and flopping ignobly to the floor, wrapped up in it like a burrito.
“CUT!” yelled the director. “Can we get some towels in here?”
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