The Kitchen Drawer
There’s been one of these in every home I’ve ever lived: a drawer of denial. Stuffed with old batteries, keyless padlocks, elastic bands, toothpicks that will never enter mouths, and crumbs. Crumbs that have mysteriously made their own way across the worktop in a pilgrimage to the crumb graveyard. I vow to clear this drawer one day, but for now, it is crammed full and fit to burst with useless objects. And when I can’t find that all-important item elsewhere in the house – and there is no time to search – this drawer will contain one more thing: hope.
Photo by Luca Laurence on Unsplash
The Accident
I pace around the kitchen in a panic. What have I done? Margaret was dead, and it was my fault. It was an accident, of course; she just tripped and fell. Roger will be home any minute. Not knowing what to do, I slip out through the cat-flap and climb up onto the shed roof. I shall act normal, I shall sit and wait for Roger just like I do every day. Then I will try to comfort him when he makes the grim discovery. They’re always telling me off for swirling around their legs, now I understand why.
Photo by Pacto Visual on Unsplash