The Metaphorical Mess

Micro Fiction by Raquel Swann

Once upon a time I lived in a mansion filled with many rooms, each one clean and tidy. The shelves perfectly organized, the beds made to perfection every single morning by the staff members who worked to make it just so. Not a speck of dust could be seen, the windows appeared as perfectly placed holes in the walls. The air clean and pure, the marble floors polished, the kitchen fully stocked with everything anyone could need for years.

I was told by the people before me this was the house I’d want to live in and I believed them. However, the view from the window was quite pleasant. There were trees, oceans, clouds, oceans, and life beyond these walls. I had walked these halls far too long and ignored the windows. As a matter of fact, I decided I should place black sheets over the openings to keep these distractions at bay.

I wandered from room to room picking through items on the shelves and never cleaning up after myself. Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps it was something else. I didn’t understand and I didn’t want to understand. I destroyed the dinning room looking for something to eat. I tore apart the bedrooms, searching for a comfortable place to sleep. I mutilated the living room searching for a remote control so I could turn off the show I had been watching – over and over and over again.

The staff quit, I never noticed. The laundry mounted up, I didn’t care. The mailbox was full, I was afraid to wander outside. But then one day, I walked past the doorway and knew I couldn’t live in this mansion any longer. A large wooden door was cracked open and so I inched my foot into the crack.

The outside world is beautiful. It is where I belong. Why am I so scared to leave this mess behind? I just want to clean up after myself – retreat – run. I am desperate for help. Is it possible some of the staff will return and assist me, just one last time?

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