I Made A Bloody Mess In The Kitchen Sink Novels & Stories

Then leaves a note like a tip on the nightstand. I stumbled to the bathroom, turned the shower to scalding, and stood under it until my skin turned red. I scrubbed him off me, between my legs, on my neck, the bite marks on my shoulder until I was raw. Didn’t help. I could still feel him with every step. When I came back downstairs, wrapped in the same towel from yesterday like nothing had changed, I saw the kitchen. Plates still broken on the floor. Bacon grease congealed in the pan. The cake box on the counter, one lonely slice missing.

When did Favour become disorganized like this? She went to the kitchen and felt repulsed by the horrible smell of the sink. It was the stench of boiled beans; she could see her untidy sink, full of slime, and water dropped slowly from the sink. Was the faucet turned on too? Or was the plumber this crappy? Maybe he had done a shabby job because how could water be dropping when it was turned off?

The next morning as I came down the stairs smothering a yawn, Brian was flipping through channels on the TV, the volume blasting. With a shake of my head, I made my way toward the kitchen, then uttered a groan as I stepped into the room. Pots, pans, dishes and the makings of God only knew what, were everywhere; they overflowed the sink, the counters, and spilled over onto the floor. As I gazed at the sight before me, I couldn’t help thinking, “Damn Brian, what the hell did you make that could have possibly made this big of a mess?” Jesus, I mean, I loved having Brian as a roommate, but the guy had no respect for cleanliness.

They noticed that the bathroom door was still firmly shut. Mom began to look worried and knocked on the door. "Mellie, haven't you been soaking in the bathtub long enough now?" Frowning, Dad searched for the key to open the door. Izzy ran over and tugged on Mom's sleeve. "I'm sorry, Aunt Louise. It's all because of me. Mellie wouldn't be throwing a tantrum if I hadn't moved in with you guys. Last night, after you went to sleep, I saw Mellie come out of the bathroom. She stomped on the apple pie and left it by the door, saying she wouldn't eat anything I brought back.

The flesh and blood on them clogged the plughole, dangling from the segments. The open linen cupboard beside the sink was a mess of fallen towels and sheets. A large bucket filled with water had been placed in front of it to soak the multitude of bloodied clothing crammed inside. The bath was the cleanest thing in the room. It was built into the ground and surrounded by various lotions. It even had a bloodied pair of scissors sitting on the edge. “Don’t mind the mess” Trauma spoke, as he took the scissors and turned on the bloodied bath levers “when you are clean, don’t forget to wipe the bath down. I still have a few people who need to use it.”

After a moment of hesitation, he carefully removed it, wincing in pain. As he made his way to the kitchen to wash the blood off his hands, he couldn't shake off the feeling of dread. Turning on the tap, he started to clean his wound, but the water quickly turned into a thin stream and eventually stopped. Fidgeting with the knob, he tried to get the water flowing again, only to see a thick stream of blood gushing from the tap. Horror-struck, he pulled his hand back as the sink began to fill with blood, spilling onto the floor.

They hand their pictures or the pictures of family members or a loved one hanging on the walls or used as mantel pieces. It seemed weird to her. She walked to an adjourning door. It led to the kitchen. She stepped into the kitchen space. She could tell because the window had been left open thus allowing light to stream into the cramped space. There was absolutely nothing to see there… Except… Except the sink. The steel sink overflowed with brown murky water and half eaten tins of food. With the tins of food, were several knives, covered in brown stains. And, the water reeked. A lot.

I had been dreadfully hungry, but still. I picked up the tray and stomped to the kitchen. He'd cooked alright. There was a dirty pot sitting in the sink along with some used plates. A sad looking, half split carrot sat alone on the counter and the gas top was peppered with bits and crumbs of food particles and grease. I headed straight for the sink and without allowing myself to think further about it, I pushed the pot to the side and turned the bowl down the drain. The broth sank slowly down, leaving the pieces of chicken and vegetables sullenly stuck to the surface.

“Because apparently my life wasn’t chaotic enough already.” I laugh. Actually laugh. Then I set my mug down. “Come on.” She narrows her eyes. “What?” “Show me the sink.” “You know how to fix sinks?” “I grew up with four brothers.” “That doesn’t answer my question.” “It means things were always broken.” Another smile. God. I like seeing that smile way too much. We head upstairs. Her bathroom sink has been dripping into the cabinet underneath. Nothing major. Just annoying. I crouch down and open the cabinet.

I pulled out a slightly charred loaf of bread quickly, the top of my arm brushing a hot coil on the roof to the oven. “Damnit!” I shouted, among other violent oaths against the cooking apparatus. I turn the sink faucet on high with ice cold water, running my wrist underneath it. I was so wrapped up in the karmic retribution of my caress mistake, that I didn’t hear the door unlock and open. “What happened here?” Mira was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking amused and slightly concerned. It was only then that I realized I had more or less trashed the kitchen as I poked around absent-mindedly.