She went to the basement to do the laundry. She was exhausted. The move was difficult. The former tenants didn’t complete their move by the time they arrived. The house was filthy. She missed her home. They had no furniture, not even a fork and knife. They went to eat at a local pizza joint. The neon lights were like knives, blinding, wounding her soul. She walked in the cold crying. She couldn't stop.
The day after, they went to Ikea and bought a few things for the house; Yellow curtains, a green carpet for the child’s room, cups and frying pans. The painters came and turned the brownish walls into white. One wall in each room was painted with a bright and cheerful color: yellow, light-blue and lime-green. She liked yellow. It cheered her up.
She went to the basement to do the laundry. She only went there once before, while looking at the apartment with the agent. She didn’t like the place. It had the esthetics of a thriller. It reminded her of Se7en. She could almost hear the victims' screams. But she had to do the laundry; she went down the stairs. She saw a door. She opened it, the door opened with a squeak. She could hardly breath. Behind the door was a bathroom, its tub filled with muddy water. Terrified, she looked at the mirror. She saw the image of a bearded man staring at her, his eyes wide open. She screamed, and then fainted.
WAS IT REAL ?
OOOO NOOOO LIKE DANIEL SAY
NESHIKOT h
Posted by: hilla mayer | January 24, 2005 at 10:56 AM