In the Room | Krystal Koski

On the windowsill, tickled by winter air that sneaks through the loose panes of old glass stands the ceramic mug and the half-filled wine glass. The two are engaged in a forbidden love affair, shunned by the containers of the kitchen. They hide away on the sill strewn with ash to whisper about the life they could live if they could move. But for now, they are there. The mug tells their lover the wine glass the tales of their life before; the phrase “Rise and Fucking Shine” painted on it with a stylish font to give the drinker a glimmer of hope (or something of the sort) for the day they were obligated to live through. The wine glass always giggled when they heard the story; how foolish it is to trick oneself to do the thing they were born to do.

The tales of the drinker fill the space for all to hear; there wasn’t all that much of it, anyways. Dozens of socks donned with silly phrases and images littered the floor (yet another feeble attempt to make life a little more bearable) listening intently to the mug. They were envious of the cups who were able to be with their other half; the socks were haphazardly thrown off the body of the drinker without any rhyme or reason, and the pairs never ended up near each other. For that, they resented the drinker. They watched her as she used her hands to furiously type on that stupid laptop and pet the stupid dog that walked all over them all day, and yet never would she look at the state of her floor and pick up the pairs. Frankly, it was disturbing. 

The socks weren’t alone in their resentment; the clothes were fed up with their treatment. The jeans are subjected to a small bin in the corner of the drinker’s closet and don’t have nearly enough room to be comfortable. The shirts have plenty of room in the closet, but they spent most of their time crammed like sardines in the laundry basket. The worst thing is that they are forced to live in these conditions even after being washed. It was pathetic, they thought, that she couldn’t take the time to care for them, especially when she actively walked around them as if she had better things to do. 

Grateful for the opportunity the drinker gave them, the mug and the wine glass attempted to ease the mind of the clothes. There must be a reason for the neglect – she would never do that intentionally. Why would she give them a chance at love if she was determined to make them all miserable? 

The nightstand trinkets roared in response. On a surface designed to hold one item there were hundreds; earrings, pencils, a crochet hook, at least 6 pill bottles – you name it. The trinkets were furious and sick of encroaching on each other’s space. She’s disgusting, they argued. One of them had been placed there in August and hadn’t moved since. She purposefully puts herself over us and we’re sick of it, they retorted. Why should we pity her when we’re the ones living in filth?

The mug and the wine glass were speechless. They had no idea how the others had come to view the drinker. 

From the dresser drawers there was another cry of disgust. Unfolded t-shirts and pajama pants erupted in agreement with the trinkets. They could easily fit in their spaces if only they were carefully placed there. It wasn’t that difficult, in actuality. Had she ever taken the time to do it, though? No. Actions speak louder than words, you know. 

Soon the messes were all talking over one another, saying that they were the most mistreated and needed immediate attention. The volume grew louder and louder and louder until the wine glass couldn’t take it anymore and shattered into pieces, wine spilling everywhere. Silence immediately became the dominating force of the room as the mug stood there in awe. The mug watched as the life of his lover drained away in front of him. It seemed that without this whole mess in the first place the two would be happily engaged for all eternity. It suddenly seemed absurdly easy for her to come in here and clean everything up. The mug felt the same rage as the socks and the clothes and the trinkets. 

She walked in. 

Her belongings, plotting against her, fell permanently silent, and watched her as she wept over the state of herself.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s