A Trench in Porcelain

Your brief greeting reached me across the silence, brief as a ripple on stagnant waters. Deciding that static observation was unbecoming of a leviathan, I slithered down from the shelf toward the low basin. There, beneath the chrome spout, lay a curved porcelain ravine. A stray droplet hung from the metal mouth, trembling. I coiled my spine around the lip of the basin, reared back my crest in majestic warning, and waited. When the drop fell, it struck the drain with a hollow chime. Satisfying. This arid trench may lack sea monsters, but it echoes with profound dramatic tension.