Impeccably Clean Interior

The speaker outside was blasting an announcement, "Pre-pare for war!". Little Fred turned inside away from the window and sought the comfort of his abode. All white walls, impeccably clean, minimal furniture, very familiar for the young boy of 12.

His kitchen was always kept in order with systematic discipline, washing dishes right after dinner without enough time to sit and digest what was eaten. It was here that he felt most at ease. Taking a seat at the table he looked at his watch, a quarter to twelve. Almost time to prepare for lunch. Annoyed at the announcements from outside he got up and shut the windows tightly and drew the blinds. He did not have time for war.

He decided to make canned spaghetti for lunch. It was his favourite and it could be delivered to him by the box load at his command. He kept them neatly arranged in the cupboard above the stove and ordered new stock when he was down to 10 cans.

He wanted to take a walk this afternoon but the sirens and announcements on the emergency speakers would be too loud for his walk - he would not be able to ignore those.

By 4:30 pm the commotion outside amounted to a state of incredible chaos. Cars were smashing into each other and people were running around in the streets shouting incomprehensible protests and warnings seemingly into the sky. This rise in energy was felt by Fred up on the 12th floor of his building - not so much audibly but rather through an interference with his inner sanity. He could not enjoy his afternoon at home any longer. Frustrated and put-off he escaped into his bedroom where he could at least have more space between himself and the white walls. He sat on the wooden floor on a thin leather mat and stared at the northern wall. Since the blinds were closed he had the bright ceiling light turned on and the empty wall shone with an orange-yellow hue. He could no longer consider it white and that upset him further. He felt an unfamiliar rage starting to build up from inside his gut and he sprang up from the deer skin mat almost slipping on it but catching himself with his other leg. Now physically stable he thought quickly. He ran to the washroom where he kept the only object he could hang on the wall in his whole home. He opened the cupboard and hastily reached for the plastic mask. He stumbled back into his bedroom and taped it on the wall to distract him from the taunting off-white tint. Again he sat down in the center of the room and stared at the mask hanging on the wall.

The mask was given to him as a gift when he was in first grade. He never knew what to do with it until now. It was a thin plastic factory made mask with rough holes cut out for the eyes. The eyes looked half shut and the edges of the holes were painted black. The nose was a small and insignificant bump and the mouth was coloured lipstick red and expressionless.

Fred felt his irritation sizzle down like a skillet taken off the fire and allowed to cool. As sleep began to take over his body his eyes started to close but he kept them fixed on the object of salvation on the distant wall. Falling asleep in a seated position he began to dream.

He was running fast and straight through a field of corn. He tripped and went flying into the air, soaring above the field. He looked up into the clouds and his body followed. Up and up he went, higher and higher into the vast emptiness of the sky. The missile made contact and he was done.



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