Written for Prompt #44 (below) – from this post
The maid is not a maid, the house is not a home
My life isn’t what I’d call conventional. It’s okay, it’s good, whatever people define as not bad. I live in a huge house. By huge, I mean, huge. There’s ten bedrooms, probably more bathrooms and enough scented candles to stock an apocalyptic safe house. I have want I want and I can’t complain.
That’s how I’d describe my life to a stranger at least.
Nothing is wrong.
In reality, it’s fucked up. Continue reading “clouded in a heavy sourness [short story]”