Expectations not met
You don’t want to cross Mary when she’s in a mood.
She was polishing bones until they were bleached white and suitable for stuffing into the Damien Hurst. When that was done the waste intestines were thrown into a large plastic drum. They landed like spent Durex, still knotty and silken with unnameable fluids.
Fancying a cuppa she cleared the sink of debris. The trap had collected lumpy gristle and nests of hair. She tugged gently at the waste with a blue gloved finger. Slowly, the tangled fibres came up from their death bed bringing with it a sour stench of drains.
She ran clear water in the sink and anointed the enamel with Fairy to clean the surface before she dared wash her cup.
This was no way for an arts graduate to live.
This story was based on a prompt from Meg Pokrass, and contains the words: tangle, waste, lump, trap, mood.