Urethrauora

The air around the bed was cool and metallic, which pleasantly contrasted the torpid warmth trapped around the sheets. From the window, rays of rising sunlight spilled in; soft, sleepy and red, almost pink. The sky was still cobalt-colored and shedding, and as that glimmering glass of rosé rose over the horizon, it became more electric, more luminous. There was, in the air, the kind of curiosity and coolness felt on Christmas morning. It was autumnal and brisk, peaceful; the kind of morning that you don't mind waking up to. He felt as though a wreath had been hung somewhere while he slept, for from the next room there was a faint smell of pines, floating with the same satisfying assurance as the scent of morning coffee. Though there were no pines, or wreaths, or cups of coffee, the thought of them felt nice, like sitting with a warm cat in a chair on a chilly day.

He got up and, from beneath him, the floor gently creaked and cried out in protest as it woke from a stiff slumber. The air pulled past him in icy ribbons on the way to the bathroom where, once he'd arrived, the wind from the open window bristled the hairs on his arms, gently tugged the ones at the back of his neck. Aiming into the toilet he produced a powerful yet small waterfall from his urethra, which warmed him as he peered out the open window and watched the sun swell and grow golder. He realized that, beside the sound of flowing urine, presently rushing like a river, he hadn't heard a single sound from outside all morning. It was so quiet he half expected snow to start falling. Why is it always so silent when snow falls? The flakes seem to drift downward surreptitiously, unaware of their conspicuous brightness beneath a street light, or perched on a windowsill like a sprawled, powder white cat.

A memory came to him, of one winter in New York; of her. A thin layer of snow covered the fire escape, dusted it like spilled sugar, while they lay in bed looking out over the city. Sticking up from the flat white roofs of nearby buildings, chimneys breathed out into the sky. The colored Christmas lights she'd tacked to the wall reflected in the window and adorned the sky, a homemade aurora. It was quiet.

The silver handle clinked as he pressed it. The water spiraled and then was swallowed.

Outside, a car horn barked.