(no subject)
Working in the kitchen, Briony had found after only a few days service therein, was far better than working in the clinic. For one thing, the kitchen actually needed her assistance and her skills, for it was used much more often than the clinic. For another, the worst Briony needed to face here was some troublesome red sauce or the remnants of eggs that refused to leave the pan. No blood, no bodies, no screams of pain, no dire consequences to her actions (or lack thereof).
It was easy to lose herself in the repetitive motions, in the simple yet fascinating act of removing all traces of what had happened once from a surface, washing away all marks of the morning and what had passed in clean water and white suds. Her hands worked, but her mind floated away with thoughts of water, the sea, purity, absolution, how the body is made mostly of water but still finger tips wrinkle from too much of it. If someone entered, or exited, she did not notice. Not until the dishes were clean, dry and put away and she could turn to see just who had walked through the door.
It was easy to lose herself in the repetitive motions, in the simple yet fascinating act of removing all traces of what had happened once from a surface, washing away all marks of the morning and what had passed in clean water and white suds. Her hands worked, but her mind floated away with thoughts of water, the sea, purity, absolution, how the body is made mostly of water but still finger tips wrinkle from too much of it. If someone entered, or exited, she did not notice. Not until the dishes were clean, dry and put away and she could turn to see just who had walked through the door.