by Violet Hansen
Her tiny frame barely cast a shadow as the light from the open fridge flooded the room where she paused for a moment to survey its contents and enjoy the cool air on her bare skin. Her great shock of jet black hair tickled where it lay down the middle of her back and she was amazed that she could still feel so subtle a sensation. His instructions had been clear and she repeated them in her mind as she reached for the ham but drew back her slender hand almost in one, complete motion. He would know the mistake had been deliberate and his rebuke was always the same: "There will be no reward for topping from the bottom." She reached for the yellow mustard, a slight smile curling her mouth as she considered the consequences. "Cheech, your sandwich is ready," she called to him lightly, knowing that later she would fuck with the laundry.
Violet Hansen is a pseudonym. She is the author of Our Parents and is currently working on numerous projects (and not finishing any of them). She lives in Washington.