The issue isn’t so much the charred surfaces (they can easily be cleaned up with a sprinkling of Vim and a bit of elbow grease, or, as an alternative, page four of the Wizard’s Pocket-sized Handbook from 1984) but the puddles of water and watermarks around the kitchen, and the clumps of baking soda splattered around the place. They too aren’t as bad as they could have been, all things considered, but there’s no way they could be left as is… this is a kitchen, after all.
Time passes quickly when writing, and as the Handbook dealt with the charred bits, the team (plus me in my role as special guest star) mopped, brushed, cleaned, polished, stacked and sterilised in quick time, remembering many hands make light work, yet totally forgetting about the refurbishment Chris was organising… although, in all fairness, if we hadn’t worked as hard as we had, we’d have noticed that Chris wasn’t with us, and if she had been, we wouldn’t have needed to have worked as hard as we had as she’d have reminded us about the refurb. Still, it’s done now… a nice clean kitchen ready for a nice new one.
Denise takes me to the corner, mentioning the spooky old larder there as we walk over to it, but I’m taken aback when she asks me “Where is it?”
I can see it clearly – dust and cobweb covered old-style lettering on the heavy wooden door, L A R D E R, but Denise tells me all she can see is the white tiles where the two walls meet – it’s almost as though we are in two separate places at the same time; that’s the thing with the SSC&B – where realities collide – the edge of one overlaps with the side of another, and things are open to more than just interpretation.
Posted for Six Sentence Stories, where the prompt word this week is ‘Edge’.
The Mansionic Perspective 
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