The following is a microfiction story inspired by Gloria Anzaldua's "How to Tame a Wild Tongue." The particular line I drew from the piece was, "For the longest time I couldn't figure it out, then it dawned on me."
"Dude, do you smell that?"
"Smell what? I don't smell anything."
"Are you serious right now?"
How could he not smell it? I searched the entire dorm after he left for class. It was such a strong, foul odor that I was surprised it hadn’t transformed into a visible green smog that I’d be able to follow right back to the source. It was a sort of bitter, salty smell that filled every corner of the room. I felt like I was in the middle of the ocean or something. I tried breathing through my mouth, covering my face, anything to escape the oppressive smell. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even think. My eyes watered as I struggled to hold down my lunch. I had to get out.
As I took a walk around campus with the fishy smell still lingering in my nose, hoping that the stench had not clung to my clothes, I wondered, how could he possibly not smell that disgusting, vomit-inducing odor?! He was probably still pissed that I made out with his girlfriend last weekend. But come on man, we were drunk, chill out.
I looked everywhere: the mini-fridge, the trash, the laundry. I heard him take a shower that morning, so it couldn’t have been coming directly from him. For the longest time I couldn’t figure it out, and then it dawned on me. He had hidden a dead fish in my closet.
"Dude, do you smell that?"
"Smell what? I don't smell anything."
"Are you serious right now?"
How could he not smell it? I searched the entire dorm after he left for class. It was such a strong, foul odor that I was surprised it hadn’t transformed into a visible green smog that I’d be able to follow right back to the source. It was a sort of bitter, salty smell that filled every corner of the room. I felt like I was in the middle of the ocean or something. I tried breathing through my mouth, covering my face, anything to escape the oppressive smell. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even think. My eyes watered as I struggled to hold down my lunch. I had to get out.
As I took a walk around campus with the fishy smell still lingering in my nose, hoping that the stench had not clung to my clothes, I wondered, how could he possibly not smell that disgusting, vomit-inducing odor?! He was probably still pissed that I made out with his girlfriend last weekend. But come on man, we were drunk, chill out.
I looked everywhere: the mini-fridge, the trash, the laundry. I heard him take a shower that morning, so it couldn’t have been coming directly from him. For the longest time I couldn’t figure it out, and then it dawned on me. He had hidden a dead fish in my closet.