Short Stories

Sink

    Drip. Drip. Drip.

    It was about 3 a.m. when the sink started dripping again.
    Drip. Drip. Drip.

    I laid in my bed, tossing and turning, trying to ignore it.

    Drip. Drip. Drip.

    The only noise in this entire house was that damned dripping from that godforsaken sink that no matter what I have done to fix it, will still drip. I knew when I moved out here by myself, it was going to be a project and a lot of frustration, but, to be frank, I had began to think that the forces of nature wanted that sink to drip and I could not do a thing about it.

    Drip. Drip. Drip.

    It was driving me insane. Living in a little farmhouse by yourself in the middle of nowhere is enough to do that on its own, but this was taking me to the brink.

    Drip. Drip. Drip.

    I could feel my face getting hot. I would not be able to handle it much longer.

    Drip. Drip. Drip.

    I had hit my breaking point. I threw the sheets off myself and stormed through the house. I slipped on my coat and boots and walked out to my little barn. I threw open the barn doors, waking every creature in there. I stomped to the little rack where I kept my tools and grabbed the axe.

    Drip. Drip. Drip.

    I could still hear it.

    Drip. Drip. Drip.

    I stomped back to the house and flung open the screen door so hard, it rattled like an angry serpent.

    Drip. Drip. Drip.

    I walked over to that god forsaken sink and raised my axe.

    Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

    I took every ounce of rage and hatred in my body and swung the axe as hard as I could.

    Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

    I just kept swinging and swinging and swinging.

    Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

    I swung until my shoulders ached.

    Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

    I swung until my arms burned.

    Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

    I swung until my hands bled.

    Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

    Finally, the axe broke, and the blade flew somewhere behind me and landed with a crash, breaking some unknown item.

    I sat down in the floor of my little kitchen, in front of where that damned sink used to be. I set the remaining part of my axe in my lap and looked at my splintered and bleeding hand.

    Then, I began to laugh.

    I had done it. I had rid myself of that goddamn dripping.

    I had destroyed that wretched sink. 

    The next morning, I was still sitting in the floor of my little kitchen when my neighbor, a sweet old man named Ernest, opened my door slowly, and creeped inside.

    “Miss Anna!” he yelled.

    “Yes?” I replied.

    Ernest walked through the living room into the kitchen.

    “Miss Anna! I was worried about you. I’m glad you’re alrigh-” he stopped when he saw the catastrophe I had created. “Miss Anna, what happened?” He walked around the island to where I sit. He saw the broken axe sitting in my lap and my bloodied hands.

    And I began to laugh.