The rash

He stood at the sink, looking into the cupboard above for a glass and took one down, tilting it backwards and glancing inside, inspecting the thin residue of powder. This kitchen appeared rarely used but dust was the least of his worries right now. The pitcher plant had bitten him and the rash was spreading down his arm in a sea of red pustules. Pressing the blue button, he could hear the rumble of water as it shook the pipes and spurted into the concave bowl, the splashes allowing the true colour of the sink to show. Mati rinsed out the glass, throwing more of the water into the sink, before filling it up and drinking from it. His mouth was starting to dry up, through nerves rather than as a side-effect. Or so hoped. The water stopped and he turned around and squatted with his back against the panel under the sink.