@ltuscter
He retracts the knife’s razor to its hilt and with a twist and click of its lock, Sinu is settled. He takes a step back to take in the picture: stark white paint and laminate countertops, uncaulked corners and water-warped wood. Six medium-sized boxes, broken down and flattened against the entrance wall. A single designer soy candle, the last remnant of mom’s housewarming gift (the rest stored safely in the fridge).Â
An unsettling foreboding washes over the apartment like marsh gas. His sister is visiting tonight.
It stinks something fierce. It’s not the mold, because he’d spent two hours on his knobby knees scrubbing that out. It’s not the ghost of a wet dog, because he’d plugged in wall socket air fresheners first thing that morning. No, he knows this smell. It’s the rank miasma of his subconscious.
He storms towards the windows, cranking the latches open and letting fresh air and ambient street noise flood the room. He lights mom’s soy candle, sans fanfare and selfie memento that would have had her otherwise barking with joy. The scent of black resin and patchouli wafts and permeates thickly but does nothing to calm him nor mask the thin-knuckled knock at the door that soon follows.Â
All Sinu can do is close his eyes. Barefoot, he schlepps his way towards the source of the sound.
“Hey.”