A coffee mug floats from the counter to her lip. She doesn’t sip. She injects . Dishes are not washed. They are exorcised in the sink. A single smudge of last night’s spaghetti sauce—a rogue Rorschach test on the white tile—dares to exist.
Cindy hoses a garden gnome with the pressure setting labeled “PAIN.” She is mid-scrub when a rustle interrupts her chi. A coffee mug floats from the counter to her lip
A fresh, wet, MUD PIE.
It’s REGINALD (Golden Retriever, neighbor’s dog, brain made of popcorn). Reginald holds something in his mouth. Something dark. Something spreading . Dishes are not washed
She strikes. A wet wipe materializes . The smudge evaporates from reality. Cindy hisses: “ Cleanse. ” Cindy hoses a garden gnome with the pressure
She smiles. Not warm. Clinical.
Reginald, now a chaos agent, rolls on the rug. The red streaks multiply. He thinks it’s ketchup. He loves ketchup.