Stains by Caroline Bennett
The stains seem to have their own smell, separate from the rest of the room, which seemed rather pleasant after the cleaning. But the stains went nowhere. Long yellow claws down the wall.
She talks to them. “Well I wonder how these got here?”
A logical question. Scrubbing for minutes and they only look worse. Yellow brown scratches with broadening edges. Ammonia does not absolve the smell. If anything, aggravates it. Rotten fruit and dirt, digested, leaking through the wallpaper.
3:15. The children are on the bus now. They will be home soon and then so will he. And they will see the stains. The brown darkening the longer it is exposed to oxygen. Do their homework while it oozes.
No amount of cleaning product does a difference. No rubber gloves, micro-wall abrasives. Is it from one of the animals? Is the dog in heat? Is there anything left?
3:17. To the Good Housewife monthly tome. Scan pages. Papercuts. Bleed. No article on cleaning scatological fruit stains and now the brown is starting to spread. Several pinprick wounds, welling and shining brown. But oh my children. Whatever will my children think.
The screech of tires. Bus tires. She is frozen by having to do too much. Every moment not spent scrubbing is opportunity for the stains to spread. They loom hungrily.
“What is the matter with you.”
Squeaky laughter outside. She throws fists at the wall. No thought or direction. Only to clean, only for the faint prayer of the clean. To blindly throw limbs until they crack, just in case that does something. Pounding now, crying, knuckles raw, and rubbing until certainly all that remains is white.
And she realizes.
The smell has gotten worse.
Open your eyes and see the bile covering you. Sick. Brown. Tainted and tainting. It has overtaken. There was no reason. Nothing left to do. Was it worth it?
The door cracks open. Children blow through and up the stairs. Mmmoooooommm? Doors, presumably bedroom, shut.
You were not found.
You were not seen.
At your most vile, you disappeared.
All that remains is to take a shower.
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About the Author
Caroline Bennett
Born: Youngstown, Ohio, USA
Now Resides: Washington, DC, USA
Online: www.carolinesblogtoherself.tumblr.com
Bio: This is Caroline’s first publication. She has been writing since the age of 5 when she first learned how to spell her name. Since then she has conjured up dreams for herself of becoming a creative writing professor, in the hopes that it would give her a paycheck for doing what she loves. Her favorite subject to write about is the quirks and idiosyncrasies that “normal” people attempt to suppress on a daily basis, because she thinks these are what can make people truly beautiful.
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image by sleo1485.
