A simple nudge and the glass is tipped, relinquishing its most coveted substance. It seeps from the bedside table to the sheets, engraining itself upon them;irrevocably intertwined. In a hastened panic, you seek to absorb of it what you can to control the damage, but to no avail. The sheets are stained. You try to wash them, bleach them clean and despite your efforts to erase the stain, it stands strong. In a vain attempt to forget the occurrence, you fold up and place them in the bottom of the pile, apprehend a new sheet and place it delicately upon the mattress. Seemingly unscathed, continuance of human ritual is necessary. However, the same listless rituals lead you back to the point of origin, changing the sheets. Time and time again, haunted by the sights, the sounds associated with the incidents occurrence, until you end up picking up the stained sheet. Back where you started.