MINDSCAPE

1

A dull light glows through closed curtains, the thudding of rain filling the room.

The house is dark.

I'm a bundle of blankets on the floor. I imagine I'm a pile of dirty laundry. No clue why that feels so comforting.

I'm the only one home and to my knowledge, that's how it will remain for the next few weeks. Mums on a business trip. Doing business, as usual. Very important stuff.

As much as I want to remain a pile of dirty laundry, I want breakfast, so I get up.

Passing by my mirror, I catch a glimpse of my half illuminated reflection.

A solid 6/10 stares back at me.

I blink, catching sight of my disheveled hair.

Make that a 5½/10.

Stumbling into the hallway, the carpeted floor turns into a creaky wood. At the end of the hallway, a puddle has accumulated where the window is open. The outside, however, is still hidden slightly behind the waving white drapes.

The room brightens for a split second as lightning strikes in the distance.

Something doesn't feel right.

I pass all the other doors in the hallway, pass the picture frames, only stopping to admire one. A picture of me, cuddling a fluffy cola-coloured cat with angry green eyes.

Ah, my precious pet, whom I love more than I'll ever love another person. His name is- is...

Oh, that's weird.

Thunder rumbles in the distance and the rain comes down harder.

A cup of coffee should sort me out. Yeah, that's it.

Heading downstairs I pass several rooms of which I have vague memories of.

There's the game room, filled from head to toe with stuffed animals and heads mounted on the walls. Trophies dating back several generations. I hate everything in the game room except for the bar. It's made out of a dark oak and there are mirrors lining the shelves filled with crystal cut glasses.

The tea room is for special occasions only. It hasn't been used for years. In fact, I can't remember a time it ever really was. Just that my mother used to chase me out of it whenever she found me in there.

I pass the study, the office, the living room and finally the dining room.

The kitchen is cold, like all kitchens always are. I notice a note on the fridge that wasn't there before.

Must've not noticed it.

DEAR E,
LESANGE IN THE FRIDGE,
M

I sigh. Again?

I open the fridge. Stacked inside, balancing and on the brink of an avalanche is a mountain of lesange. Just lesange.

---

I eat my lesange at the excessively long dining table. There's something bothering me about this whole situation. Something feels wrong about all of this.

I look at one of the windows. Like all the others, a dull yellowish white glows from behind a closed curtain. I stand up.

Why are all the curtains closed?