58. Landscape With Animals, cameron s redfern

She looks out through fogginess, touches her fingers to glass iced with fog. She could write a message in the whiteness but she doesn't, for she knows words don't easily wipe away, that they stay preserved even when the cloak of steam has eroded into the pallid day and the shower-screen seems clear again - the words would be there, ghost letters on the glass, visible in a certain light and from a certain angle. She will not risk anyone seeing what she might, in a few seconds of weakness, inscribe in sweeping scripts on the glass. If he were here, showering with her, she might risk it just to plase him, to see the amusement in his eyes as he followed the path of her thoughts. She contents herself with pawing at the screen like a fly at a dood, her fingertup leaving tracks that break off and mean nothing. It's satisfying, nevertheless, to leave a mark, to have an effect.