A/N: Okay, I am quite interested in hearing everyone’s opinion about this piece. It’s a flash fiction, and I think it turned out pretty okay. (If I may say so myself 😉 )
Mr. X was a perfectly normal man, which was quite a rarity nowadays. He wasn’t much of anything really. He wasn’t spoiled, wasn’t selfish, wasn’t generous, wasn’t particularly good or particularly bad. He was a completely average human being and very proud of this fact.
Sure, he supposed that he was rather orderly. Didn’t like a mess if he could avoid it, but that was still pretty normal. It was just such a shame that certain other people couldn’t see that.
“Seriously, it’s just a pen!”
It was his new roommate talking, and Mr. X already knew that this arrangement wasn’t going to work out. It wasn’t ‘just’ a pen. It was a pen on an otherwise perfectly empty table, and Gaby wasn’t even using it!
“When you moved in, I told you that I don’t like messes. You told me that you were fine with that.”
“That’s before I knew how psychotic you were about it!”
Mr. X flinched.
“I just don’t like messes,” he repeated.
His roommate took a deep breath. Then she left, and Mr. X hurried over to pick up the pen. He would put it in the drawer, where it was supposed to be, and everything would be good again.
At least until his roommate came back with a sandwich. In the living room.
“The kitchen is for eating,” Mr. X told her mechanically as a piece of lettuce fell out and hit the just vacuumed floor.
“Well, you know what? I don’t feel like eating in the kitchen. I feel like eating in here.”
She sat in the couch, and a piece of tomato fell out and hit the cushion. Mr. X’s chest began to feel uncomfortably tight.
“Don’t eat in the couch,” he said, the words echoing in his mind, only in his mother’s voice. Don’t eat in the couch. What are you, an animal? Let me show you how animals live!
A bit of mustard fell out, and Mr. X’s hand tightened its grip on the pen. He wasn’t an animal. He was a good, normal person. Someone who didn’t clutter, someone who didn’t eat in the living room, someone who didn’t need to sleep in the doghouse.
Gaby gave him a challenging stare. He’d never realised that she had the exact same eye colour as his mother. Carolina blue.
“Please don’t eat in the couch,” he said again. You’re not an animal, so stop acting like it!
He took a step closer.
“Stop being so obsessive,” Gaby ordered him, and he wasn’t. He wasn’t.
I’m just trying to teach you a bit of manners, so be grateful, you little brat!
He stepped closer, staring at the bit of mustard on the couch.
“Seriously, it’s unbearable. I’m afraid to make a bit of a mess in my own home. It has to stop, and it has to stop now.”
Stop being so filthy! Look at this! Do you think anyone would let them touch you with hands like that? You think I could bear being embraced by a boy that filthy?!
He looked down at the pen in his grip. It was so sharp. Sharp enough to break skin. It was odd how that was suddenly all he could think about.
“Are you listening to me?” Gaby asked.
Are you listening to me?!
He lifted the pen, only seeing Carolina blue.