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W203 Fifth Assignment Revision

My final assignment for W203 is to put together a portfolio consisting of one revised short assignment and one revised 10-15 page story. I have chosen to revise my fifth assignment (as indicated by the title) which is the story of my good buddy Zach as he battles his own kitchen. I like this new version more, I think it flows better in the first person. I probably won't re-post my full story (Los Engaños) but I'll be sure to tell you all about it. It's on you, Zachy!

I shut the door, slammed my head on the wheel, and finally breathed a sigh of relief. After maybe the longest week of my life, loaded with tests and presentations, I was more than ready to enjoy the weekend. My father was still in Vegas with his brace-faced girlfriend so I had the whole house to myself. I called my friend my friend Andrew as I drove out of the school parking lot.

“Hello, Zach” he answered unenthusiastically.

“Hey Andrew, want to come over in a little bit?”

“Can’t,” he said. “I gotta work in about half an hour.”

“Well…alright,” I mumbled. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

I groaned as I hung up, but nothing was going to keep me from enjoying this much needed break from school. As I lugged my book bag up the driveway, I couldn’t wait to toss it by the coat rack.

“I’m not going to look at you again until Monday morning,” I vowed as I threw my backpack aside. It didn’t respond.

I stood silent in the foyer with my arms outstretched and my head held back; I could feel the stress melting away. As I contemplated how I should begin my weekend, the growl from my stomach rattled the dirty chandelier above my head. I knew what I should do first.

I meandered down the hall, avoiding the scattered shoes and piles of clothes and made my way across the unmopped, food-stained tiles of the kitchen. As much as I resented Brace Face for not being my real mother, I knew having a woman around would vastly improve the cleanliness habits of my father and me. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn someone had ransacked the place while I was at school. The clutter of empty potato chip bags and vacant fruit snack boxes on the countertop had amassed to twice its normal size and the dishes were stacked so high they resembled the Tower of Pisa.

“I really should clean this up,” I said aloud, knowing full well I wouldn’t touch any of it. Cleaning would require physical exertion and this weekend was all about relaxation. I pushed enough trash aside to get to my dad’s Looney Tunes cookie jar and saw a family of roaches scatter off the opposite end of the counter.

“Yeeaawwwhooooo!” I shrieked. I have never heard myself make that sound before. Even though I was alone, my face turned red with embarrassment. “Settle down,” I said. “It’s leisure time.”

“Da-da-da-da-don’t be such a pig!” Porky exclaimed as I lifted off his head. Empty. I turned around, my heart still racing from the insect encounter, and reached up for a glass. Why my father puts the glasses so high up I haven’t the foggiest, so I just grabbed the first one I felt. As I started to bring it down, something didn’t feel right. I squeezed the rubbery glass, looking at it simultaneously and was immediately appalled. The moss-coated glass flew from my disgusted hand and shattered on the floor, the fungi still gripping each shard. I started gagging as I repeatedly wiped my hand on my jeans, trying to rid myself of the sickening feel. I toed the smaller pieces under the overhang of the cabinets and scooped the larger pieces into my hands. I felt like throwing up.

I dumped the scraps of glass into the sink next the food encrusted spoons so sharp they could be used as knives and washed my hands furiously. Without realizing it, I had splashed water all over my shirt, pants, shoes, and floor. I groaned out loud as I reached for the paper towels, but slipped on the wet floor. My arms flailed as I tried to stabilize myself, but to no avail. My face hit hard on the linoleum and my glasses slid under the refrigerator. I awoke a short time later not realizing at first why I was on the floor. As I assessed the situation, my memory came back. Suffering from a splitting headache and a severe case of frustration, I simply sat up and let out a long, disheartened moan. I rubbed my bruised chin and wondered if it would have hurt more if I didn’t have a beard. I stared into the shadows under the fridge, unsure of how to retrieve my glasses. I crawled over to the refrigerator imaging what else lie in those shadows. Could there be any glass under there? Would another roach scurry out?

I took a second to focus and then slowly marched my fingers over the dust. The first thing I touched was my glasses and I yipped like an excited puppy. I pulled them out and cleaned them with my shirt as my impatient stomach growled once again. My eyes wandered up to the freezer and visions of Jack's frozen pizza danced in my head. I stood up, still somewhat disoriented, and opened the freezer door. Unfortunately, there was nothing but frost and a cold breeze that slapped me across the face. I closed the freezer door and laid my black, spidery head of hair against it - defeated. My stomach continued to roar so I settled for a sleeve of Saltines that lay atop the fridge and sulked over to the couch. As I bit into the stale, dry cracker I noticed the calendar on the wall. Today was Thursday.