CLUTTER


I. The Study

Clean the study. Clean the study, he said.

His mess, his papers, his job.

His. his. his.

Not mine. I don't care. I don't care about his stuff.

His kid. His wife. Not mine. Not my mom.

His stupid stack of scrolls.

His jars of pickled things. Hmmm. Actually, that's interesting. A frog?

Bright colors. Blue. Yellow. Dirty jar.

I'll steal it. One thing is mine. Mine. Not his.

His life is all over here. The walls. The tables. The floor.

Mess.

Clutter, he said once.

Ink and paper.

Graphs and charts and letters and numbers.

Pile of papers. His papers. One falls.

What is this?

"Cardiovascular Stats".

His work. His time.

Numbers increasing down the page.

His name.

No date.

Looks important.

Crumple it up.

More scrolls. Old, dry paper.

Studies and stuff.

I don't know. I don't care.

His guesses and discoveries.

His writing. Always in a hurry. Sloppy, messy. Like his study. I hate it. I hate it.

All of his work.

Fire in my throat.

I could burn it.

What would happen?

Clean his study.

Burn his study.

I could blame it on the candles.

Fat white candles. Always puts them out.

He would know.

He would know it was me.

Mess.

Sweep the floor. Dust. Dust everywhere. Eww. Dust in my mouth.

Gather scrolls. Smells like the library. I hate the library.

strongwings why are we in here oh was this your idea cool let's prank her

Okay. I don't always hate the library.

Weird stains on the rock wall. Why is this green?

Is that blood?

Wooden frame. Dark wood. Don't know the name.

Painting of himself. Awful painting.

Did she paint this?

Wrong. His smile is thinner. His face is uglier.

Why did she paint this?

Burn. I wish I could burn it.

Orange fire. Fire everywhere. Stupid painting could be ash.

White wax. Blame that candle.

No.

Ugh.

His voice.

Obnoxious. Whiny.

Grow up. Annoying.

Sneezes. He has a cold.

Good.

I hope he feels awful.

His study. Dusty, messy, ugly study.

Not clean. Never clean. Not really. But I'm done.

Coughing. His voice.

Mine. My name.

fierceteeth

Me.

"Fierceteeth, are you done yet?"

Done. Done with his study.

Now what?

His lab.

No.

I will not clean his lab.

Exit. Rock brushes my scales. Leave the room. His study. Hate it.

Tail drags. Warm floor.

Look back.

Ugly painting.

Is it watching me?

Scrolls. Tables. Dust. Candles.

Clutter.

His mess.