The metal bathtub shares it room with a broken bicycle, both rusted under in the cold shade of a garage. Stationary in front of the garage door, sitting, its four unequal steel legs quirk the supported body to the side, making a solitary one hanging mid air and three other touching the filthy floor. Only those were covered in six-legged insects. There are black ants marching across tiles, black ants lining the walls, black ants spilling out every cracks and corners; all merged their path with proper armies manner. They crawled frantically up the tub-- then scattered themselves all over the dusty, rough 'n smooth iron surface. Large pieces of rust had begun to peel off like dry skins. Some already lay forever useless in damp water puddles, a drip of liquid drops now and then tinkling a clear bell through soundless space.

         Filled to the rim of this questionable bathtub is thick, black mud. The stuff which reminds people of chocolate syrup and sewer wastes at the same time. Oil oozes down the tub's gaping mouth quickly, slowly, pauses, condensing into inscrutchable stains that ants feast on; sometimes trapped one too greedy little guy inside its fluid and throttled it 'til death. On top of the decaying pile, a jungle formed. Surprised anything living could survive long in that rotten pit at all. There are shrooms, clovers and dandelions, grass, mold, weed, reeds, cacti, a single lotus, houseplant, vines and yellow flowers growing with impressive scale. A rare breeze went by, ruffles the bizarre greenery. The air smells flowery for a brief second, but it doesn't stank any less nasty.

The volume of footfall approaching cranks up-- someone. Clacking of high heels against hard tile getting closer. And closer. Sending vibration throughout the hall.

Calm and slow paced, yet walks like a queen.

A young woman with dark red hair steps in sight smoking a cigar. She dismisses the foul odor with a cloudy sigh, never flinching. Her eyelids flutter disinterestedly up and down, her eyes scan the room left and right. Two large almost yellowy looking marbles in doe spheres widen by second at what they see. She was merely surprised. Her expression shows little shock nor curiosity. Leaning besides the door without entering, a flick of the fingers, the woman tosses her burned out butt over her naked shoulder, then crosses both arms and legs.
"Well..." The dying hot cigarette tip was put out under a twist of her pointy heel. Her word, a smoky audible murmur.

The warm whiteness of the fluorescent light pour in from the hallway. A single nylon bag drifts and rolls by, as if pushed by an unseen ghost.

"What happened?"

Dangling from the ceiling on top of the tub, is a long, weaved, snapped rope.