The Colour Green by Ani Arutiunian

Bright orange light penetrates

the obnoxiously vivid green curtains, bought somewhere in a garage sell for a cheap sum. It encircles huge piles of cardboard boxes of various sizes, covering them in a blanket of gleam. There are dust particles circling in the air, creating intricate patterns worth an award or two. For now, serenity is the true lady of the house, overseeing every little movement in the apartment since the previous night. Her presence in the household is sporadic, usually scared away by the chaos of the infamous duo residing there. Their untamed energy is too sharp for the gentle senses of the mistress.

 Suddenly, a loud yawn tears away the delicate tranquillity created by the careful hands of the yesterday's spirit. A shrill immediately filled up the broad space, reclaiming the reign over the dwelling. The lady is overthrown yet again, forced to retreat to her humble hiding.

- Hey, Derek, did you throw away the rubbish yesterday?

A tired voice came up from the above, barely reaching the ears of the blond. It was hoarse, filled up with a barely distinguishable wavering. It was the type of uncertainty invisible to the eye of a stranger, carefully wrapped in layers and layers of deftly crafted deceit. 

- Sure, Dom, of course I did...

The tone of the response has awakened a bit of a mis doubt in the heart of the young man. And yet, he continued his walk to the destination. Each breath in the direction of the kitchen filled up his lungs with a smell that could only be described as rancid. Its intensity only grew as the man took his steps, forcing him to recoil in disgust. Soon enough, he saw it. The dustbin stood tall in the middle of the room, filled up with putrid content.

Annoyance engulfed the hapless man. He could feel his veins ready to burst, ready to turn the room into something closely resembling a horror movie scene. Memories of the past few months flashed right in front of his eyes, filling up his mind with a familiar ire. Twenty-two times – that's the exact number of times his roommate has abandoned his responsibilities in favour of another gaming session or a can of beer in the past two months. It's the same sequence of events, the same type of indifference that turns the blond's brain into an exasperated mush. Though, this day decided to add a bit of colour to the routine. 

A thick effluvium has engulfed the room, greasing the polished floors of the shabby apartment. Dry splotches of a mysterious liquid are visible among the clutter, all leading up to the infamous bin. The sight of it is sobering: a paralysing chill enveloped the fuming man, halting his movement altogether. Flesh. Piles of decaying flesh. Right in his apartment, waiting for him for a whole week.

***

The younger man laid face up on a broken bed, looking forward with a pierced gaze. He could feel his smouldering anger slowly turning into ashes, ready to be dispelled among the ruins of his past ambitions. It was necessary, he thought. The dedication he put into his work is too precious to be questioned, too noble to be denounced. Even though the sight of broken bones is now branded into his psyche, tarnishing it into a unrecognizable pulp; even though his reputation is now under attack, ready to crumble into a wreck – it was all worth it. 

The emptiness that tries to insert its sticky hands into his consciousness is merely a distraction, imposed on him by a prudish society. The twinging between his ribs is a result of a strenuous work he performed yesterday, carefully dissecting each limb of the man – all in the name of his grand project. The enemy is gone, and now it's time to harvest the fruits of his hard labour. It is time to savour the victory, to begin the long-awaited feast. His heavy heart must be torn out, it must be replaced by a coldness of a rational mind. There is a problem waiting to be solved: the nuisance wailing on the first floor.

— Dom? You okay there?