Bare Living

Prompt number thirty-eight:

I actually wrote this based on another picture prompt but I'm going to use that for a different story now. This one sprang out and so, I've given it a new picture to match its content.

***

"I'm going to try Bare Living," Stacy said, twirling the noodles of her takeaway on her fork, eyes glued to the hit show she was streaming.

"Please don't tell me that you're going to become a naturist! I couldn't bear it!" Her friend, Darren, appeared from the kitchen, plate laden with chow mein and plonked himself on the couch.

Stacy sniggered at Darren's comment and intended pun. "No nudey-ness here, you're safe," she said, "but I think I will look at getting rid of some stuff."

Darren looked around Stacy's incredibly cluttered flat. "Like what?" he asked, bemused.

Stacy spooned some more noodles into her mouth, chewed, thought and swallowed. "I don't know yet but a lot of it."

Darren waited until Stacy had focused on the TV again and its stripping down of material things and rolled his eyes. He'd believe it when he'd see it. But secretly, he hoped that she would go through with it. She needed a new start.

***

The first day of "The Purge", as Stacy had christened it, came. She felt unbelievably nervous and she wasn't sure why. Darren had offered to help but she felt that this was something that she needed to do on her own.

She tied her hair back and decided to tackle the lounge first. She had bags ready for different things: dump; recycle; give away; charity shop. Rubbing her hands together, she went to the sideboard and opened a drawer.

It was thing upon thing: pens; passport (at last!); electrical cables; envelopes, one with cash in it; a packet of Polos; a pack of tatty playing cards. Stacy took each item out and placed them in their designated pile. This was going well, she thought!

And then, she found something unexpected. Underneath an old water bill. A newspaper clipping. She knew what it was.

Her past.

She could open it, see his face, relive it, torture herself with the details, the persecution, the pain. She'd kept it ridiculously as a pointer to say "Don't ever go back here." Some screwed up part of her wanted to look at it.

She breathed deeply, screwed it up and put it in the bag marked "Dump".

***

365 words

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