I washed my hands

Because

I was frightened.

Because.

I could feel the bug’s, slowly crawling in my hand.

Because.

I was shaking in fear

Because.

I have touched the floor.

My hands brought me to the sink. Like they were my masters.

The masters made me turn the tab. So they can wash their troubles away.

I felt better, safer, and Healthier.

The steam of the hot water blew onto my face, while it drowned and burned the bugs off my hands.

Since that day on, every time I would touch something despicable, my furious masters would make me wash them.

It was like this nonstop, I would be exhausting.

I would take hours and hours of precious time washing my hands.

I was their slaves, not to be able to do touch anything.

Until one day.

I decided to stop.

My hands were dying.

I had just touched a part of my wall.

They were begging me.

Making me wash them.

But all I did.

Was ignore them.

Then they died.

I was free!

Then I had never washed my hands, only when I’m supposed to.

Not when I’m forced to.