By Samantha Su
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On the corner of Mulberry and Hawthorne Street was a small, one story house. With a sunny yellow facade, unassuming white curtains pushed to the outer corners of the window frames and an immaculate garden, the house was noticeable in its demure, innocent nature. One’s eye is immediately drawn to the thing trying its hardest to hide. City dwellers driving through the narrow streets of the suburban neighborhood would gaze out the window, their eyes catching upon the sunshine house. “How quaint,” they would sigh. “How simple their lives must be,” they would think before turning their eyes back to the road in an effort to forget their lives of smoke and steel. The yellow house would become a memory, a vision rapidly becoming smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.
On the evening of their one year anniversary, the table was set, the silverware glittering, and the candles lit. She had spent the entire day preparing, and she hoped the dinner would also serve as a celebratory dinner for her husband’s job promotion. As the ink of night spilled across the sky, she waited, savoring the smells of the kitchen and the roasted dinner she had prepared. After three hours of waiting and still no sight of her husband, she began to worry. Where is he? Why isn’t he home yet? Oh god. He didn’t get the job. He’s not coming home. The food had become cold. Robotically, she put the silverware back in the cupboards. The tablecloth was neatly folded and the candles blown out. The dining room, shining and warm only an hour ago, was now cold and lonely. With everything back in its proper place, she placed her hands against the kitchen countertop and took a calming breath. Unfolding a faded yellow blanket, she created a makeshift bed on the sofa. With a book in her hand, she waited, watching the door and startling at every small noise.
It was two in the morning when she heard a door slam. She had fallen asleep on the sofa, the book long forgotten. A sigh of relief escaped her. Her smile faltered as she heard the heavy, clumsy steps and hissed curses. Her husband, his clothes disheveled and face red, appeared before her. He did not notice her on the couch. “Honey?” She tentatively called. “What happened?” her voice was soft and soothing, as if trying to ease a feral animal. “I didn’t get the job,” he responded, his voice a dull blade cutting into the silence. “That’s okay,” she reassured in a gentle tone. “It’s not okay. I work hard to provide for us. But what would you know about hard work?” His words bit into her, his anger a living thing inhabiting the space between them. “Everything I do is for you,” he hissed. She watched in fear as his eyes took on a yellow tinge. Each word from his mouth resembled a snarl until the only thing she could hear was unintelligible growls. “H-honey?” she whimpered, her mind unable to process the scene before her. Gone was her husband, and in his place stood a nightmare. Cracks echoed as bones shifted and fangs grew. Her shrill scream pierced the air as she stared, gaping at the monster; for it was a monster staring back at her. She had not stopped screaming, and the monster snarled, rearing back on its hind legs. Her heart sped up, the beats echoing like a drum within her body. She felt as if her body was all muscle, a drawn out and taut rubber band waiting to snap. She was very aware of the breath frozen in her lungs, of the prickle creeping up her forearms and the cramp in her calves, as if aching to run. Fear gripped her throat. She reached for the phone only to find it shattered to pieces on the floor; her eyes moved wildly around the room, trying to make sense of what was happening. She was a cornered animal. All she could do was stare into the monster’s yellow eyes, acid dripping from its mouth.
She woke up to blinding sunlight. A slight shift of her body brought a flare of pain. She glanced down at her body, a mottled painting of bruises black and blue, every cruel shape illuminated by the harsh light shining through the blinds. Memories assaulted her. Yellow eyes. The blood in her mouth as she was struck across the face. She wondered how she was still alive. The creak of a door startled her. Her husband stood by the door. “Hey honey, how are you feeling?” He asked gently. Monster! Her mind screamed. She could not help flinching back from his touch.“W-what happened to me?” She whimpered. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Everything will be okay,” her husband reassured. Her vision dimmed, and she was soon asleep.
A week had gone by. Her bruises had faded to a dull yellow, and her husband had doted on her each day. “You were sleepwalking, and by the time I found you, you had bumped into every surface in the house,” her husband explained. Flashes of yellow eyes lingered like a bad taste in her mouth. You’re being silly. It was just an awful nightmare. You fell. He’s not a monster. You fell. She spent the day tending to her garden; each day the flowers appeared more vibrant than the day before. She was glad no one was around to hear her loving whispers to each plant, for her neighbors would surely think her insane. The faint sounds of pop music met her ears, and she glanced up to see a shining car rolling down the road. Her eyes met those of the woman driving, and a smile made its way to her face. With sunglasses perched on flowing brown locks, the woman waved in acknowledgement before continuing down the road.
“How sweet. What I wouldn’t give to spend a day just gardening,” the woman sighed, recalling the woman in her yellow day dress to match her equally endearing yellow house. With a final glance in the rearview mirror, she looked back at the sunny house, its white curtains now closed. She had not noticed the faint bruises around the woman’s arms, and she would not hear the growls as the monster visited again that night. She would remember the yellow house, and the feeling of longing for the simpler, easier life of the woman in the yellow dress.
Critique
Hi Samantha,
Thank you for submitting your piece. This is a very effective work of fiction that
accomplishes a lot in a short space. While it could benefit from a bit of restructuring, it was definitely a strong piece with a great command of prose.
You have a very strong handle on descriptive language. I’d particularly point to lines such as “a mottled painting of bruises black and blue, every cruel shape illuminated by the harsh light shining through the blinds,” where your writing really shines. However, at times I think you could work to make your sentences flow a little better. For example, in the opening paragraph you write:
With a sunny yellow facade, unassuming white curtains pushed to the outer corners of the window frames and an immaculate garden, the house was noticeable in its demure, innocent nature.
This sentence should probably be broken into two different sentences or reworked, as the
difference between the length and structure of the descriptive parts feels a touch awkward. Furthermore, I would caution you against using language like “innocent” in this situation, as I think you have already conveyed that aspect of the house through the previous description. It is important to remember that when you have already “shown” your reader something, you don’t need to “tell” them. Explanations like these tend to bring down otherwise strong prose.
One of my favorite things about this piece is how stylistically you melded together the dialogue and description with the internal narrative. I would like to see a bit more of a natural flow to the prose in the third paragraph. Although I understand what you are trying to do with this technique, I think the connection between sentences like “Cracks echoed as bones shifted and fangs grew” and “Her shrill scream pierced the air as she stared, gaping at the monster; for it was a monster staring back at her” breaks down here.
On a final note, this is definitely an interesting premise but I think you could take this a little further. Assuming that this is an allusion to domestic violence, the piece would benefit from going beyond the metaphor and into a bit more action. Perhaps you could extend it a little further?
Overall, great work and thank you again for your submission!