Stuck in Limbo

Trigger Warning:

Contains mentions of mental health, insect infestation, and implied death. Reader discretion is advised.

The linoleum squeaks in that one spot in the hall it always does. She's able to really feel the give under her foot this time, and just shrugs.

It's probably the leak from the toilet then. Six months of waiting for it to be fixed. If it wasn't just direct water damage, probably from being a cockroach buffet.

One crawls over her foot and under the gap in the baseboard.

One of the bulbs in the dining room light clicks on.

The floor is cold on her face. The handle of the broom is uncomfortable under her shin. She grabs the fridge door, and bathes in the light.

1 beer, 2 onions, 1 boiled potato. A little dry, but it will do.

She takes a bite as she stands, then bats the papery remnants off her shirt. Tastes a bit strong, good thing she went ahead and ate it now.

Her cat lays in the same spot he always does, in the chair by the front door. Such a comfy chair, she's glad he's taken to sitting there. She scratches his head, then kisses it gently.

The TV emits a pitiful whine after she pokes the power button. She doesn't seem to hear it as she hums a tune to herself, sauntering over to the couch.

She spins on one toe at the crescendo, cascading onto the couch. Landing with one socked foot still in the air, bare toe to the ceiling, the smell of home, her home, filling her nose.

She feels around for the right texture amongst the nest, grazing terrycloth. She pulls it out, peers at it closely, then pulls it close triumphantly.

A knock at the door.

A long sigh comes up from her chest, no matter how hard she tries to hold it back. Company would be nice, there's no need to be so frustrated by just the knock.

She opens the door, a wide smile on her shimmering face. In return, there is a hum. A hum surrounded by dead air and shadow, asking to suck her in.

The wide smile seems to pin at the corners as she shuts the door. 1, 2, 1, locked, great. She leans over the back of the chair and scratches her cat behind the ears. He's such a good boy, always so calm.

The softness of his fur reminds her of a song she would sing to her. She begins to hum, and begins to dance. She dances in a box step, a one, a two, a one, a two, a one.

Her shoulder hits a corner, and she spins into the floor. She quickly sways to her feet, taking a step.

It sounds like they fixed the floor, thank fuck. They're such great people here.

Her hands feel along the wall, grasping. Her thumb snags on the molding, then a switch. The walls seem to run from her at first as she blinks into the bathroom. She rubs her palms into her eyes, which brings some of them back to her. She wants them to stay, so she decides to take some medicine.

With shaky hands, she wraps her hand around the cabinet door and rifles through the various faded bottles. She pours out a handful of speckled pills, counting them once, then again, then once more.

She grabs the faucet handle and twists. It comes out milky, kind of grey. She puts both hands in, engrossed in its warmth.

She stares at the water for a while.

It just keeps flowing. The air bubbles, the shift of color, through it all. The water keeps flowing. It's warm, and it smells like the last her she remembers. It burns my nose, and it feels like I'm as close to home as I can be.

A knock raps at the door. Her skin tries to leave for a moment, but she gently wraps it back around herself.

She hurries down the hallway, taking long strides. Company! How delightful! She sure is lonely.

She opens the door with a wide smile and desperate eyes.

She shuts the door. Locking it, 1, 2, 1. She's watching her figure, no need to talk to them at the door.

She leans down and lovingly pets her cat along his back. His fur shifts slightly. Her face wrinkles in disgust, and she sniffs her hand. The sweet boy has gotten so stinky, it is time for a bath.

She puts one hand under his shoulders, and one under his hips. His torso resists for a moment, but he comes off the chair easily enough.

A tune begins to swell from deep within her again. She holds her cat tight to her chest, kissing him gently as she hums and sways her way to the kitchen. She surveys the kitchen, then decides to test the stovetop with the back of her hand. She had a cold breakfast today, so he can sit here. He'll sit so good, he's such a good boy.

She begins to grab dishes with one hand, keeping the other open to squish her bothersome guests with her palm as they try to run away.

A half turn spin to the stove, she scoops up her cat, and then scoops up a little more of him. She places him gently in the sink, praising him for being so compliant. The water hisses out its chlorine smell. She gives a deep inhale.

There's a knock on the door.

She rolls her eyes and lets out a groan of frustration, but switches her attitude for her baby. She scratches his chin and tells him to stay there. People can be so impatient.

She stands in front of the door for a moment. She is alive, she is a person. She opens the door and is greeted by a deafening hum. The darkness beyond her door feels like it's almost reaching for her.

She closes the door quickly. Lock it, 1, 2, 1. She's not ready for company right now. They will have to wait until she is good and ready.

Hopefully it's not too cold out, she only has her summer clothes out right now. As she begins to get lost in what’s available in her closet, her foot dips into the hallway floor. Curses for property management and prayers for a plumber duel their way out of her mouth.

The light in her closet turns on with a slight crackle and whirr. The room tried to get away from her again, just like everyone else.

A loud series of raps on the door. Followed by another.

She should have taken more medicine earlier if she knew today was going to try to do so many things while she only has so many time. As her inner monologue begins to join her on the outside, she peels her wet socks off her feet.

A louder series of raps on the door. Followed by another.

She reaches across time and space to pull a t-shirt off of a hanger. The hanger swings back, and forth, and back again.

She pulls the shirt over her head. Pulls on a clean pair of jeans.

Someone bangs on the door. It seems like the next one may take the door off the hinges.

She yells that she's coming, a dry sock balled in each shaking fist at her side. She wrestles them both onto her dripping feet.

Stumbling into the bathroom, she pauses at the medicine cabinet. Someone is here with her. She helps her pull her hair into a bun. As best of one as she can with the knots she has. She doesn't seem to mind, she seems grateful.

There's a knock at the door.

She seems to appear beside the chair in her living room. Her cat is nowhere to be seen. So typical of that damn cat.

She can hear the void before she opens the door. Thrumming, drumming, stealing the rhythm of her heart.

She opens the door, trying to accept the static before her. A piece of paper floats past her eyes.

They explode from the threshold. It feels like hundreds of them, millions even. All grabbing, touching, prodding, in, out, everywhere, without ceasing. I feel one bite me.

The movement of the swarm is so in sync it almost seems to be a single being. Another visitor steps out from the mass, disappearing inside a flash of light. Despite her desperate cries, they take her skin away.

The scent of a summer day.