abyss | Gregory M. Fox

Noodles swirled and squelched as the yellow powder dissolved into something resembling cheese. Nathan stirred, barely paying attention to the task as he stared into that mac and cheese abyss.

His sister was asleep on the basement couch after another messy breakup. She had arrived late last night, full of rage and tears and tequila, and had shattered on their kitchen floor. Once again it was his job to clean up the mess. But every time the pieces got smaller.

Meanwhile, his hangry kids were screaming upstairs, the audit at work was starting Monday, his car was making a weird noise, and then there was the state of the entire world . . . On top of all that, even cooking up some macaroni felt daunting.

He just wanted his sister to know he loved her.

He just wanted his sister to love herself.

How long had he been stirring?

“Is that blue box?” a raw voice croaked.

Nathan didn’t see the red eyes, the unkempt hair, not even the scars, both old and new. He saw the smile, struggling to break free at the corner of his sister’s mouth. “I know it’s your favorite,” he said, “so I made a double batch.”

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Story by Gregory M. Fox

Photo credit: freefoodphotos.com

“Welcome to the Abyss,” Clyde chimed. “Care to make a donation?”

The young woman blinked several times, eyes adjusting to the lighting of the sparsely furnished lobby. “You . . . have to pay?” she said at last.

Clyde gestured to a jar labelled Tips. It was empty “Never hurts to ask. You ready?”

“I guess so?”

An unusually insouciant response. “Right,” Clyde said, hoisting himself up. “Through here.” He opened the door at the back of the room and gestured for the visitor to enter.

She stepped into the large empty room, saw the Abyss at its center. “This is it?”

Clyde nodded. “Enjoy,” he said, letting the door shut behind her.”

He returned to the desk shaking his head. Maybe he should have tried to warn the kid what she was in for. Maybe a decade ago, he would have. But no one who came to the Abyss was really prepared. There was a reason repeat visitors were so rare. Sometimes it was better just to let people have the experience.

The girl emerged ten minutes later wearing an expression Clyde knew well. Trembling, eyes wide, she crossed to the desk and dropped a handful of bills into the tip jar.

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Photo by Adrien Olichon on Unsplash

Story by Gregory M. Fox