Maybelle

Maybelle looked into her vanity mirror as feelings of finitude creeped over her being in the form of a skeleton representing death. The air was cold morning English January. The icy tile floor pricked her feet sending shivers up her legs. The chill of brisk wind infiltrated her bones. She was inclined to take a warm bath to wash off this horrible feeling of dread but she could not even move, her body was locked with fear. The lanky skeleton put its hand on her shoulder and whispered into her ear, 'I am always with you'. Maybelle shrugged with shivering terror and looked around her but no skeleton was there. She exhaled from her throat and held her neck to warm it, her body was inhumanly lacking proper blood circulation, she looked ghostly. After gathering a little composure several minutes later Maybelle finally disrobed and prepared a warm lavender bath. She soaked herself letting the calming aroma of the scented oil ease her distraught mind.