A Story In 100 Words

The nausea didn’t truly begin until about 20 minutes after. I sat there in the bathroom staring at a singular particle of black mold on the hinge that connects the seat to the toilet, editing my breathing so I could overhear the conversation they were having on the porch. I loved listening to their voices— hearing other people living. It was unusually bright in that bathroom. “Am I the only one who’s seen this mold?” I thought to myself. I got up and walked over towards the frosted glass window to close it, hearing the voices pause shortly after. Unfortunately.

From Guest Contributor Michael T. Schulte

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