Water Torture

It stares at me and laughs as I wince at its every sound. It takes such immense pleasure in my discomfort.

It dares me to accept its challenge. "Come on" it says. "Come on." But it knows I am not equipped for such an undertaking.

It is a Rubik's cube. It is an enigma's enigma. It is more difficult to solve than the most complex equation in our universe.

And so I am forced to accept its inevitability. I am compelled to bend to its domination. I am powerless to stop the relentless assault on my soul.

I move with trepidation into this room as the enemy notes my arrival and seems to increase the speed and volume of its attack upon my senses. If on occasion I should not need to wipe the slate clean on my end, I fleetingly contemplate leaving well enough alone and exiting this chamber of horror without confronting my foe. I fear if I anger it with futile effort to quiet its dark tune to my brain it will reply by redoubling its orchestration.

If ever the devil has inhabited your home, if ever a creature typed its incessant message into your skull and would not stop, could not be cajoled, could not be reasoned with, could not, would not respond to begging, to pleading, then you alone know of that which I speak.

I now comprehend the true meaning of water torture. The sink's unstoppable drip.