Tribble Month 2023 Day 12: Vanilla or Chocolate
The dorm room has two beds, long since shoved together and conglomerated into a mass of mattresses and blankets. It has an overhead light that flickers more than it doesn’t, and which will continue flickering through the rest of the night, unminded as it is. It has a pair of desks on neighboring walls, one strewn with plastic bags and worksheets and stray pieces of lined paper, and the other housing haphazard pens, textbooks, and not-quite-dirty-yet clothes. It has a creaky door leading into a closet, where the piles of clothing venture forth and mingle with the spiderwebs, all mixed up together despite the many wardrobe mishaps that have already ensued. It has a trash can, tipped over and without a bag, though neither precaution would’ve prevented the takeover of seven different brands of candy wrappers that now litter the floor.
And of course, it has two occupants, still in costume or something like it, draped over and under each other in a to be aching and sweaty arrangement among their stuffed animals and yet more chocolate-smudged plastic, harmonizing their snores while movie credits roll on the screen of a still-open laptop.
(Word Count: 192.)













