a day like any other

The girl opened the door to the charming house unassumingly. She had been trying to decide what she wanted to make for dinner when she spied the boxes in her peripheral vision. The realization that the light was on in the kitchen and that someone was moving about in the house caused a feeling of loathing and anxiety to settle in her chest. Her energy was being conserved for cooking and learning purposes, not semi-awkward small talk in the transitory spaces of the abode. It wasn't that she disliked the people. The people were nice as long as they didn't invade her personal bubble of thought. She liked to think of herself that way; walking around the city surrounded in an invisible cloud of words.

Ignoring the urge to set her bags down and flee, the girl took her jacket off and greeted the figure standing on the stepping stool.

Conversing was proving to be easier than she assumed it would be.

The figure in the kitchen, a woman, and for our purposes the owner of the house, began telling the girl that she was cleaning out the cupboards and had just finished with the fridge. As her story progressed her tone seemed more and more agitated.

The girl amiably agreed that it had needed to be done. She had wanted to help but found herself distracted by school and life. Her apology was sincere. They moved on to the weather. It had been extremely cold the past few days and her realization of exactly how much the heating bill came to (as per the owner) made her wince as she handed over the agreed upon share of money.

They chatted about the girl's looming deadlines at school and impending move away from the charming house. She said that she felt it was under control, even if it meant that sleep and seeing her friends for the next week or so would be minimal. How foolish.

Because in the next instant she was informed that she would have to move her belongings tout suite. As in before the first of the month. That was perplexing and presented a plethora of new, seemingly insurmountable challenges. The girl, again, had to fight the urge to run away. The half unpacked groceries and thoughts of dinner were what kept here firmly rooted to the ugly vinyl floor. Grin and bear it, she thought. Her eyes glazed over as the owner continued her diatribe about how the girl needed to pack up her belongings almost immediately, etc., and concentrated on chopping red peppers.

When she was finally left to her own devices dinner progressed at a steady pace. Once it was done, she washed the dishes and took her plate upstairs to eat. When she was done eating, she poured herself some Scotch. Perhaps 'some' was an understatement.

She slowly and methodically looked around her amusingly messy room, thinking about all the books she had amassed at her age. The notebooks, photographs, and concert tickets; all mementoes of experiences and days now long gone. She waited until the Scotch took its desired effect, sat down in her chair, and firmly placed the muzzle of the Glock behind her ear.

And as she pulled the trigger, her last thought was "Have fun cleaning this shit up".

It's one of those days.