Short Stories and Poems

A Perfect Fear

It was a normal day, just like any other laundry day. I got up extra early just so that I could get a head start on alphabetizing my sock drawer, my favorite hobby, so safe, so perfect. I had a fulfilling day ahead of me, packed full with all of my favorite things to do, all organized into my color-coded schedule that separated everything down to the minute. I sighed emotionally as I gazed upon the sheet, I must be in love, I thought. Not a line was smudged, and each color that was touching each other was lined up so that their complementary color was adjacent to the next. Collecting was at 8:00 am sharp, while sorting started at 8:30 am sharp. Just in case, I even scheduled a 5 minute snack and bathroom break from 8:45 am sharp, to 8:50 am sharp.

I walked into my room, a room perfectly clean, no, perfectly spotless! A bed with out a wrinkle, blankets without a seam undone, or corner unraveling. I breathed in deeply through my nose, clean, beautiful air scented of disinfectant and Lysol, all blended perfectly with my air purifier. The air was ALWAYS kept at a perfect 72 degrees, so that it wouldn't be too cold, or too hot, not even by a few degrees. Not a spot on a shelf was cluttered or touched by the filth of dust, it was always kept perfectly clean. A creak sounded behind me and I twirled around quickly to face the door with wide eyes. I exhaled to a perfect degree to calm myself, a silent emission of CO2. I always feared my door hanging ajar. It mixed the temperatures in my room like an air pressure system high up in the clouds, the heat and cold always swirling around each other in an attempt to separate. Luckily, the creak I had heard had come from a door outside of mine, a door somewhere down the hall, most likely another resident at this filthy home. Most likely Harley or Jessica, two girls who also lived on this floor who were dreadfully afraid of staying in one place, what a silly fear. To stay in one place was the safest thing to do, you could keep an eye on every detail, and make sure nothing was out of line at any point. Their fear was nothing like mine!

My “fear” wasn't a fear at all, no matter what they said. It couldn't be, having fears would make me imperfect, and that just couldn't be, EVER. I wasn't fearful, I just was exact. I was used to things one way, and I wouldn't change that; I wouldn't allow that to change. Pulling on my breathing mask and goggles, I took a deep, calming breath and glanced back once more at the perfect room that I would have to leave for a long, exact 20 seconds. When I took the exact same route as I always did, to the very step, while carrying the exact same weight the exact same way, in the exact same position, and going the exact same, quick speed, I could get back perfectly. I grabbed my laundry, and rushed down the hall perfectly, only allowing the door to be open an exact 1.2 seconds. I put the clothes in the wash and turned and rushed back, opening and closing the door the same way. I could only allow the door to open and close for that long, with only 20 seconds in between, or the air pressure would not adjust perfectly.

Today, after I would be done with my errands of laundry, I would do my daily dusting, sweeping, vacuuming, and overall cleaning schedule that you are too imperfect to understand if I were actually to explain it to you. After I was done with it all, in fact, I had scheduled my appointments with each of my chores to begin and end at the proper times so that I would have exactly 5 minutes and no more to prepare for the, hopefully this time, properly scheduled and recorded arrival of our new occupant. This one I gave myself exactly one minute more than usual to prepare so that I could make sure that I was ready, this one was one of the most imperfect people I had heard of in a long time. Jacqueline M. Williams had a irrational fear of the abnormal. Since this home was for anyone but the normal, in fears and irrational behaviors, she would promptly go off upon entering. She would most likely be escorted straight to her comfortingly padded room where she could calm while talking to the friendly, but highly imperfect councilor of the grounds who would go over the routine of rules and calming words that she said every time we had a new arrival. I had been living in this home ever since I had turned the perfectly rounded number of 10. I was escorted quickly here by my horribly unruly parents whose last words to me were, “They can care for your perfect needs.” before hurrying quickly our the door. I have adapted and accepted things long ago, so that my world could go back to being perfect. They could not make sure that I was safe in that world, so they brought me to this world.