My Laugh

I started my day like normal, except for the frigid as hell temperatures and the steam roaming my odd apartment complex.

When all of a sudden my doorbell rings. The casual “Ding Dong, Ding Dong,” that went on for ten seconds or whatever, never really was good at counting things.

I opened the door to see the normal steam fog and something dark, maybe brown, underneath it.

I hurry as to make sure not much of the steam got into my apartment.

My roommate came out scowling.

“You know I don’t like you opening the door! Even if you are careful it doesn’t matter, this crap still gets in no matter what!” Sidney, or ‘Shrimp’, what I call her, exclaimed as she came out of her room.

She was in a bathrobe that made a wide v-shaped and came to her knees, as well as a towel covering her long, wet, black hair.

I looked down at the bags I had brought in then looked up at her “You order these?”

“No,” She said, more calmly now.

“Then, what else is there to do,” I shrugged, looking around the bags, thinking hard on which one to open first.

I grabbed the one I thought heaviest and bulkiest. I first held a rope, a 10ft rope 3inches wide, some bungee cords, and duck tape. Not off to a good start.

Bag #2, now Shrimp was crouching next to me in full clothing.

She pulled out garbage bags, wash cloths, and some extra strong cleaning spray. The kind you use when you spill red punch all over your family’s brand new white carpet.

“What would anyone need to do with these?” Shrimp asked as if I had any clue whatsoever.

Then the 3rd and last bag. I slid it over the cheap tile floor and looked in it. Bile rising in the back of my throat. I wasn’t much of one of those little miss prisses who thought they were the only thing that mattered and thought everything was gross, so this was a big deal to me.

There, in the top of the bag was…

Moldy, and when I say moldy, I mean like 500 year old mold that had been already sitting there for another 500 years. So just imagine the smell, because there was no plastic cover over this…this…horror. A human thigh.

Shrimp had already disposed of it after putting on almost fifteen pairs of gloves and using that handy cleaning spray after. Kinda useful when you think of it.

Then I looked to see if there was anything else it the box, and what I saw was morbid, just plain stupid compared to the other items…

A sticky(with blood) bag of jolly ranchers.

I, of course, burst out laughing, but soon stopped as Shrimp glared at me.

“We never talk about this hell of a grocery order again, ok?” Shrimp firmly said.

“‘Aight,” I replied.

Me and Shrimp soon forgot about it, or at least that’s how we acted, because we were scared.