The Untold Struggles of Living Away from Home

This is a short, comedic piece that I wrote recently for an imagery assignment at the University of Victoria

A few beams of morning sunlight shine through my dewy kitchen window. One attempt at dinner has turned the room into a warzone. The counter is littered with the shrapnel of dirty plates. Red splatters stain the stovetop. The sink is obscured by a sea of pots and pans. I sigh. My ragged Shamwow seems to be no match for this army of muck. Even my socked feet are enduring a barrage of crumbs from the laminate floor. I take a deep breath, readying myself for the imminent battle. Then, before the burnt air can fully penetrate my nostrils, I start spraying Lysol left and right. My hands whir through the air, fighting the filthy surroundings. Slowly, the dishes retreat to their cupboards and the countertop peeks out at me.  I stand back and observe what now resembles a respectable room. The shadow of a grin sweeps over my face. I move to place my weapons of mass cleanliness back under the sink, but suddenly I hear a rumble. Something is wrong. I panic for a moment, and then the realization hits me. It’s not over. I’m hungry again.