The Authentic Eclectic

Habit of Purpose

Astrid crawled across the attic floor shrimplike to bump her nose against the wall. An artificial rose that tumbled from a box landed like an acorn on damp leaves.

Source (Public Domain): https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gerard_Dou_-_Still_Life_with_a_Boy_Blowing_Soap-bubbles_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg

No more the fish eyes of the undead. No more the coughing machines. No more the glitterhard zooplankton. Black is not the color, silver not, nor white the city’s color. Dingy.

She hustled down the stairs at the call. The cat Ojo interfered.

“Astrid! Can you do the dishes.”

Her legs escaped the feline dance macabre. “Here I am.”

Ellen swept her blonde hair into a ponytail, whisking its strands across Astrid’s face. “Great. I have to go to a thing.” She seemed to not walk to the door but shrink, and, as a miniature, manage somehow to reach the knob.

Alone, Astrid blew up the syllables of her cackle to echo size. On bent knee she unscrewed the white ceramic knob of a drawer and dropped it into her pocket where it fraternized with a nickle. Day 1.

A centimeter by a centimeter of carpet for me. Extracted with a razorblade. Day 2.

“Ojo!” Ellen cried. “Did you do this? Dammit, this better not mess up our security deposit.”

“Mow?”