Making Up Reality

Wild joy filled me, but I don't know why; perhaps it was the young woman I imagined, picking up discarded clothes in the bathroom with her skinny hands, her hair loose, falling over her eyes. She pulled the bathroom plug and cleaned the ring with a long-handled brush. She mumbled a song to herself and got up from her knees with a small grunt. She was wearing a bra that pinched a little on the left. I liked the way her eyes turned the colour of whisky when she looked into the light. Outside the door there was nothing; not even the vacuum of space – she hadn't imagined it yet.