Hotel Hell

by Amanda Paul

The floor is sticky sweet on my feet, the kind that suggests someone champagne bottled the room with soda. The Clorox smell is dense enough to suggest that a dead body was carted away by the Coroner early this morning. I find a scrap of cloth peaking from underneath the bed; surely it is too small to have once been a pair of underpants a former guest had worn. The worn bed spread is the same color of the vomit splattered in the lobby—pink with gold specks. I sigh. I should have paid the extra fifty bucks for a 5 star resort.

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Amanda Paul is a creative writing major and journalism minor at Franklin Pierce University.