{"id":785,"date":"2021-04-08T08:13:01","date_gmt":"2021-04-08T08:13:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/?p=785"},"modified":"2021-04-08T08:13:09","modified_gmt":"2021-04-08T08:13:09","slug":"house-of-cards","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/house-of-cards\/785\/","title":{"rendered":"House of Cards"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

She slides another item into the pile, packing it in like she\u2019s stuffing a turkey. This time it\u2019s a discounted multi-pack of kitchen roll. There is no kitchen to put it in anymore. Nor a lounge. Only storage space, filled to the brim, narrow corridors running through it like clogged arteries. There are already six-packs of kitchen roll squeezed into my bulging cavities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But to her, these are not kitchen rolls. These are softened sheets of grief, flattened and neatly bound up. They cushion her in a comfort blanket of safety. Her heart empties itself of pain by filling me up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I heave under the weight of it all. The monster inside me is growing, slowly suffocating us. No light can get in any more. Darkness smothers us, the air thick with dust and the smell of rotting food. Rats scuttle through the cracks, floorboards creaking, threatening to send everything crashing down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

Once upon a time, I could breathe. It was just the two of them at first, Paul and Ellen. They were happy. And then Sophie made three. Jack, four. That was when Ellen could make decisions, throw out the things that the children had grown out of. Back then, she didn\u2019t imagine the clothes and toys crying, clinging onto her, begging her not to abandon them. They were just objects.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then the children grew up and left, and Paul\u2019s illness filled the space. Hospital appointments littered the calendar and medicine cluttered the shelves. Sofas made way for a sick bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then he was gone. I echoed with the sound of dreams unrealised and words unsaid. I reflected her misery. My emptiness ached with the absence of loving arms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s almost ten o\u2019clock. Bill, the neighbour, will be here soon. She\u2019ll open the door a crack. He\u2019ll ask if she fancies a coffee. She\u2019ll say, I\u2019m busy today, sorry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She can\u2019t let him in. There\u2019s no room. All this stuff, it means everything to her, yet her face would burn with shame if he saw inside. He\u2019d see into her soul; smell the cloying decay of her. Maybe even try to \u201chelp,\u201d like her children do. Tell her to \u201cjust get rid of it all.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But he\u2019ll persist. Ok, he\u2019ll say. Don\u2019t suppose you have any old newspaper? She\u2019ll hesitate, then go to the paper mountain in the dining-room. She\u2019ll grip an edge and shuffle it left and right, trying not to topple it down like Jenga.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When she returns, he\u2019ll be an inch further inside the doorway than he was yesterday. She\u2019ll hand him the newspapers and he won\u2019t flinch at the dates on them. Her fingers will brush against his, and a little jolt of electricity will pass through her. For a moment, she won\u2019t feel empty any more. He\u2019ll say, how about a quick walk? Maybe today she\u2019ll say yes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Here he is now, right on cue. \u201cPlease, help!\u201d I scream into the debris.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His gentle touch on the doorbell says, \u201cI\u2019ll try.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

She slides another item into the pile, packing it in like she\u2019s stuffing a turkey. This time it\u2019s a discounted multi-pack of kitchen roll. There is no kitchen to put it in anymore. Nor a lounge. Only storage space, filled to the brim, narrow corridors running through it like clogged arteries. There are already six-packs […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"rop_custom_images_group":[],"rop_custom_messages_group":[],"rop_publish_now":"initial","rop_publish_now_accounts":{"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211":"","twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305":""},"rop_publish_now_history":[],"rop_publish_now_status":"pending","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"A fantastic story of a hoarder falling apart...\n\"House of Cards\" from #SwanseaWriters #flashfiction","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[379,435],"tags":[447],"class_list":["post-785","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-379","category-april-2021-room","tag-hoarding"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pbrNJE-cF","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/785","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=785"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/785\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":787,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/785\/revisions\/787"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=785"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=785"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=785"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}