Start with nothing but a toenail.

Big things often have small beginnings.

Prop your foot on the edge of the bath. Lean in nice and close. Dig the pliers in, clamp the jaws shut. Pull slowly, not too fast. You want to feel every … little … bit. Turn on the tap. Set the nail loose. Watch it rush for the blackhole drain. And the swirl of red after, like a strawberry sundae.

Dream of teeth in the first week of November.

Power comes from within.

Ignore the calls from your mother. Delete the texts from your father. Some of the worst people in the world are disguised as friends and family. Stand in the shower. Scrub yourself pink raw. Watch ropes of warm water run down your legs and through the gaps between your nailless toes. Be grateful steam masks mirrors. Be grateful water masks tears. Be grateful for what you have. Be happy.

Seek out those who wish to do you harm.

Life is short.

Find them on apps. Meet them in nightclubs. Drink. Snort. Whisper secrets in each other’s ears. Follow them down streets you never knew existed, into black-box rooms, onto beds caked in tomorrow morning’s regrets. Let their fingers walk the length of you, seeking out the grooves, the creases, the natural seams. Close your eyes. Relax. This is what you want. Let them crack you open. Let them feed.

Notice the leaves changing colour, falling, rotting in the streets.

There is beauty in simplicity.

Venture into December fog. Lose sight of the contours of the world. What was once solid is now cold grey air. Lose yourself in the pall.

Run a scalding hot bath. Lay back into the water. Float like ice. Crack into perfect little pieces. Dissolve.

Finish with nothing but bathwater.

Written by Adam Thomas Jensen

Adam is a creative writing student based in London, UK. This is his first published work.