Deadbolt

Today was a good day.  The rain had stopped.  She’d cooked sausages for lunch.  Michael had left her alone.

Today was definitely a good day.

She picked up the pieces of paper and half opened envelopes on the table.  Shuffling them into a pile.  Turning all the envelopes to have the little windows facing the front.  The pieces of paper were refolded and added to the back of the pile.  She set them together on the top right hand corner of the table.

Three plates, along with coffee mugs, knives and forks and a few left over chicken bones, were spread across the middle of the table.  She stacked the coffee mugs on top of the plates.  Then collected all the chicken bones and put them inside the coffee mugs.  The cutlery slotted in between the mugs.  She pushed the pile to the left end of the table to take to the kitchen later.

Filthy pigs.

There were clothes strewn all across the seats and backs of the chairs.  She hurriedly scooped them up in her arms, then walked over to the window.  Peeking through the curtains, out the window and across the overgrown lawn.

There was no sign of Michael.

She rushed to the door, turning the key to release the deadbolt.  Opening it wide enough to see the path to the rubbish bin, she looked around again.  Clear.  She squeezed the pile of clothes through the doorway and ran to the fence.  Flinging the clothes on top of the overflowing bin, she pounded the pile with her fists, sending shorts, tops and socks flying on to the ground.

“Hi… Daisy?”

She froze, her fingers nails digging into her palms and her knuckles white as they held tightly in a fist.

“Or is it Michael?”

“Michael isn’t here.”  She spat as she twisted around to look at him.

“Ok, sorry Daisy.”

She shoved past him, hurrying for the safety of the house and the deadbolt door. “Daisy isn’t here either, so fuck off!”

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