I must have gone to sleep last night thinking of the tornados my friends and family in St. Louis are dodging, and the hurricane season that’s just heating up.  Given the ice storms (and blizzards) we all just weathered, it can seem a bit like nature is out to get us.  And wouldn’t it be interesting if that were true?  If inanimate objects could take a stand, and put us in our place?  Today’s flash piece is my response to that prompt.  I hope you enjoy!

Marta stubbed her toe on her way down the hall, but didn’t even stop to yelp.  Just grunted a muffled curse, and proceeded to the kitchen.  Mornings.  People said what didn’t kill you made you stronger, but how did they know it wasn’t mornings that killed everyone in the end?

On her way into the kitchen, Marta had to navigate around the potted plant that was halfway through being re-potted.  When had she worked on that?  Sometime last week…time to get that finished.  But not today.  She stopped short–the center of the kitchen was taken up with the clothes drying wrack and her wet laundry that was too delicate to go in the dryer.  When had that been moved into the middle of the room?

She sighed, and scooted it back over to hang above the heat vent.  Turning back toward the coffee maker, she slipped on a patch of wet–no idea how that got there–and almost threw out her hip.  What was with her house this morning?  When had it gotten to be such a mess?

As she opened the cupboard, a mug tumbled out, narrowly missing her head.  She caught it, but had to set it down quick to turn off the faucet, which had suddenly decided to spray water.  Maybe that was where the puddle came from?  No time to dwell on that, the microwave was rattling and sparking.  She yanked the door open and stared at the oatmeal inside.  It was all puffy, and swollen up to twice its normal size.  Marta shook her head, and grabbed her cell.

“He, Jenny?” she said.  “I’ll be a few minutes late today.  Having the morning of all mornings, so I’m going to scrap this place and run through Buckystars to pick up breakfast.  Want me to grab you a cuppa?”

As she listened to Jenny hmm and haw about which coffee she wanted, Marta grabbed the oatmeal out and dumped it–well, she was going to dump it in the sink.  Except, the ‘sink’ wasn’t so much a sink as a mountain, and anyone able to climb it should make short work of Everest.  One of these days she was going to have to clean this house, before it–

She stared at the counter, her brain tuning Jenny out and her jaw hanging open.  The dishes were moving.  One by one, the spoons and forks were climbing from the sink, and marching over to the ballooning oatmeal.  As the first spoon arrived, it dove into the oatmeal and came up with a big glob.  Taking aim, it flung the missile at Marta’s head, smacking her in the chest.

“Wha!  Eep!”  Marta ducked, as the next utensil loaded up and let it’s oatmeal glob fly.  She ducked, shrieking, but somehow the clothes wrack had made its way back into the middle of the room and it was herding her toward the center of the room, where she was easy pickings for the oatmeal brigade.

“Marta?” Jenny asked.  “Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not!” Marta cried.  “I don’t know what’s going on but–”

She stopped.  The knives had climbed from the sink, and marched to the oatmeal.  Standing in a tight circle in the air above the oatmeal, they began to spin.  A vortex formed in the center and flying bits of oatmeal goo rose up, twisting into a funnel cloud shape.  That funnel grew and swelled, til it really seemed quite impossible that all that oatmeal could have come from her one bowl of overcooked cereal.

Angling a bit, the funnel of whirling knives and globby oatmeal took aim at Marta.

“Wait,” Marta said, holding her hand out.  “We can reach some kind of agreement here.  You–you want the house cleaned?  Is that it?”

The food tornado slowed, dipping into a nod.

“Marta?” Jenny asked again.  “Are you okay?”

“Fine–I’m fine,” Marta answered.  She gripped the phone harder than necessary, and never took her eyes off the food tornado.  “But, Jenny?  I’m not going to be coming in today.  I need to clean my house.  It’s holding me hostage.”  She laughed, the sound a little breathless, but not quite hysterical.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?  Okay.  Bye now.”  She spoke over Jenny’s protests, hurrying to get off the phone.  Her house had been patient long enough.  It was time to get it cleaned.

Have you ever been attacked by rabid food?  Or maybe had your house turn on you?  No?  Well, you must be a better housekeeper than Marta–congratulations on that.  Me, I just may be writing from experience. 😉

Stop by our Flash Friday page to find other fun flash pieces, and please join us if you have the time!  All comments and participation are welcome!

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