A/N: Just a short one-shot that I think will break my writer's block. Read on, Gleeks.
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It was 3:18 PM. Three more minutes and her daily torture would begin. She sat neatly on her newly vacuumed couch counting down the seconds, worrying. Obsessing.
She heard a noisy motor vehicle drive past her home and her heart skipped a beat. It's too early. The postman is too early. A delicate sweat crept on her brow and her large eyes widened as worry seeped deeper into her core. A slight change in her daily schedule was enough to uproot her.
Her eyes regained their composure and relief spread through her as she realized that was just a passing car. Not the post man.
3:19.
To pass the time, she put on her plastic gloves and reached for the box of green grapes, always green, and began polishing them one by one with her disinfecting cloth and then placing them in a separate, clean box.
One grape.
Two grapes.
Three grapes.
Oh no! She held out the third grape in front of her face and eyed it with alarm. There was the tiniest brown spot near the bottom of the grape glaring menacingly at her. That would not do.
She stood up and walked quickly to her tidy kitchen and threw the grape into her spotless sink. She watched as it rolled into the garbage disposal. She flicked the switch that would turn it on and waited until she was sure, absolutely positive, that the betraying grape was destroyed.
3:20
She looked to the clock on her oven and to the clock on her microwave and to the clock on her wall to see the time displayed clearly and boldly to her. One more minute.
She walked through the hall, checking every clock to be sure the exact time was demonstarted.
In the living room, she checked the Grandfather clock and the digital time on her cable box and the hands on the small antique clock that rested on her fireplace, ticking the time away, mockingly.
Tick.
Tick.
Tock.
Her eyes grew large once again as she noticed the open box of grapes on the small living room table. Uneven. Opened! Collecting germs!
She noticed the second box with only two grapes, pleased that this was an even number.
3:21.
Anxiety spread through her as she saw the time change physically on her cable box.
It was time.
Time to face her daily torture.
Mail.
She heard the post truck pull in front of her home, right on schedule. She could practically hear the door to her mail box screech open and then closed by the post man.
His dirty, sweaty hands all over her mail and her perfectly unblemished mail box.
Hands that he most likely failed to wash after doing unthinkable things.
She made sure her gloves were on her hands and she grabbed her cleaning toothbrush and polish from the drawer. She made her way to the door and reached for the door knob. Twisting it in an almost hesitant sort of way.
She walked slowly down the path that led to her mail box, passing freshly cut grass and wonderful smelling, tidy flowers.
She grimaced as she neared her mail box and watched the post man speed away to the next house.
She glanced at her watch.
3:22.
She stood before it for what seemed like hours. She felt ashamed knowing her fear had consumed her life and that her neighbors were most likely mocking her from the safety of their homes. Pointing and whispering to their loved ones. Peeking through their blinds, watching intently as she slowly opened her mail box.
As she relunctantly pulled the mail from her mailbox, her discomfort apparent for all to see.
As she closed the mail box and put the dirty mail in the front pocket of her apron she wore while at home.
As she took her toothbrush and polish and meticulously cleaned the mailbox that the post man has soiled time after time.
Small, dainty circles.
Thousands of circles.
Thousands of rotations.
Thousands of motions every day.
The look on her face ever determined despite the thoughts she knew her neighbors must think.
Nuts.
Psycho.
Mentally ill.
She didn't care.
She just knew she had to clean the mail box.
Had to.
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The end. Hope it was enjoyable.
Long days and pleasant nights.
~Sai Cheech.