A Way of Life

The front door makes a high-pitched squeal when it is pushed open, as if to give a warning for what awaits you inside. Your nostrils flare at contact with the immediate penetrating odor, leaving you to question how you may have stepped into a giant baby diaper. The walls of the foyer are a sad gray, remembering their snow-white days. Fur rolls like tumbleweed across the hardwood hallway floor, showing you the way to the kitchen. Following their lead, you glance over at the staircase to your left with enough confirmation already that you will have no need to climb up there.
Natural light comes through the sliding glass door in the kitchen, exposing the dust dancing in midair above the kitchen table. Dirty dishes are stacked in a forgotten pile in the sink. You rest your hands on the countertop, a grave mistake you soon realize as you turn them over to reveal days’ worth of crumbs. Ahead of you a filthy living room catches your attention and curiosity seeps in. With each step closer the putrid odor of the house heightens, until finally, you are standing in the epicenter. Stains of questionable source dot the carpet, representing more shades of neutrals than you could think of on your own. The rancid smell hovers like a moth intoxicated with light, unable to escape in the stagnant room. The fan above acts as a shelf for layers of dust and cobwebs hung as decoration between the blades. The empty couch against the wall seems to be the center attraction in the room, a safety zone from the land mines on the carpet below. Beside the television crinkled papers were piled askew, seemingly forced together as a last minute thought. Tchotchkes lined the bookshelf in the corner of the room, a menagerie of garage sale trinkets ranging from kitten figurines to snow globes.
You glance at your watch, surprising yourself for staying in here the few minutes that you have. Backing into the kitchen, you decide to take a quick peek in the bathroom to your right. Clumps of hair on the blue tile floor catch your eye. The trashcan is filled to the brim and the tissues seem to be playing a balancing act at the peak of the pile. The clear soap bottle next to the faucet is filled only to a level unreachable by the pump. You turn your head away in disgust and head out onto the deck off the eat-in kitchen.
It seems to have remained intact despite the deck stain that is chipping away. Lights hang on either side of the glass door on the outside. There, hanging on the left light, is a hornet’s nest the size of a coconut. Hornets swarm the area and make it apparent that the homeowners steer clear of this danger zone. The backyard looks as if it has been abandoned for weeks, the grass growing high and weeds marking their territory. I've had enough, you think, and push through the
unkempt yard towards the driveway.