A/N: Not really a randomette as such, but too short to publish on its own. x

Randomette No. 13: Hiding

I am presently curled, knees to chest, under a small paisley carpet in the attic of my wife's house. On one side of me there rests a harp. On the other there is a ragged shawl and a black-and-white comic book about Joseph Stalin. In the buzzing house below this dark well of silence, a mere stepladder away from the central hub of noise and distress that I call home, I hear the conversation of moths in the cabinet, the hum of the microwave, my wife singing old songs from children's television in the eighties. The smell of foreign food permeates my nostrils. I am hiding. I am hiding from my wife, from my house, from the authorities, from responsibility, from foreign food. I am hiding.