His house

Where will it stop?

               Mysteries of unfinished words echo through the empty house. The cold drifted through the walls. Ants crawl across the counters, spiders spin webs in corners, flies swarm the rotten food that corroded the trash. Clothes, tossed carelessly around, cluttered every room, whether it be few or many.

               Dirty plates filled the nasty sink, the stench unbearable. The walls, more so the door frames, were smeared with dirt and grease. The pictures on the wall in the living room were covered in dust. Under the couch, was a whole colony of ants, dust bunnies, and miscellaneous items.

               “Sorry it’s a little messy, I got so busy this week and never really cleaned up.” His lies ran past my ears. This was months of no cleaning, maybe even a year, for only one person. His clothes were hanging on the drawers and cabinets in the kitchen. They looked as they were drying. He saw me staring so he asked,

               “What’s wrong? It’s only a little mess.” I looked into his eyes, an angle staring back at me. But if only I had noticed this was an angle from hell. He wrapped his arms around me, to pull me in for a hug.

               “We can hang out in my room, if you want.” I could smell his house clinging to his clothes, but also the strong sent of dog. He squeezed me, his warmth was comforting.

               “Sure, why not.” I answered. He let me go, the reality of where I was settling back into my mind. He led me to his room, the rest of the house the same cluttered mess. When we entered the room, a warm draft filled me, then the stench of incense and undelivered food. His room was the cleanest spot in the house, everything was pushed to the sides of the room.

               Clothes, of course, were every wear in the house. I guessed that’s all he got for his birthdays, Christmas, and stuff. I bent down to pick up a sweater that was in front of me, the aroma of dog pee slapped my face. There was a laundry basket next to his cluttered bed, in the basket it went.

               I snatched the basket from the bedside as he settled on the bed. Turning his head to watch me, he kicked a pair of boxers off his bed. Into the basket they went. Dirty socks? Into the basket! Old shirt with wrinkles? Into the basket! Smelly dog blanket? Into the-!

               “Don’t!” he startled me.

               “That’s my dogs, I don’t want it to get washed. That’s the last thing I have from him…” He stood up and grabbed at it. I tossed it on the floor. I took some used hoodie and threw it on, then I left the room.

Author's Note

Can you see his house?