Ever since I read that book, my consistently dull and limited imagination drove straight to, uncontrollable. I was curled up in the library reading it and felt like using the washroom. Usually I treat it as paying a visit to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, because that's just how it really is, dark and gloomy. Today, just before I stepped in, I paused with my hand on the door, mind on the book, and for some bizarre reason my heart beat increased a notch. But I dismissed my thoughts as er, crap and went in anyway. Then, even more stupidly, I somehow contemplated on leaving the cubicle door unlocked, should a quick escape(from dunno-what) prove necessary. Eventually, I decided to use the bright washrooms at Jurong Point instead, just opposite, to spare myself of emotional instability(lol, TEMPORARY). So before I exited I washed my hands, AND, even the soap mocked me. The dispenser squished a large dollop of lurid red gel onto my outstretched hand and I actually withdrew it immediately and flinched. Red red red, the colour of blood. Usually I loved how my hands were left lingering with the fresh berry scent, but today it just reminded me of...brain matter. They should have used peach, a far less dangerous colour.