“With this nailbrush, I scrub. He complains, of course, but he lets me do it, lets me push the coarse bristles under his nails. I love to rake the gunk. Every day after we get home from school, I call him into the bathroom with a little sing-song lilt and he stands there in the doorway of the blue room with his arms crossed at his chest. His eyes are asking me what do I want but they are just faking it. He knows what I want: the nailbrush is already in my hand, and the faucet is already turned on. I’ll rake and soak, rake and soak, then scrub, scrub, scrub.”—
"The Blue Room"
This is a little story I wrote for the British online magazine Visual Verse. I had an hour to write something based on the photo they supplied. See the rest, and what other writers came up with, at: http://visualverse.org