The boy who left his toothbrush ( *a short story)

I was looking at the droplets shining on the top of his toothbrush. He had used it just a few minutes before… leaving. For good. From where I was lying on the floor I could see the sink from a strange, crooked angle. Instead of dying, I could now see everything through a distorted lens – as if I had broken my neck. Blurred. Drop, drop, drop…In a hurry to leave, he did not fully turn off the tap. Drop, drop, drop…I could hear his steps fading away from my house.