Anchovies are everywhere. Billions and billions of anchovies. Covering every fucking inch of the room. Dad said it was just old person smell. Everyone else thought so too. Freaking fish, though. Guess that explains the cats. How did she get them to stick to the wall like that? Iridescent and scaly, each one reflecting the sunlight from the windows in a different way, lined up side by side like tiny silver soldiers, they've been stuck to every surface, every piece of furniture, covering the walls and the ceiling and the armoire and the table lamp and the ottoman, everything but the floor, a ridiculously complex mosaic of rotting aquatic flesh, looking like stained glass if you squint your eyes right, but reeking more than anything smelled by anyone ever before, and there's Grandma on the bed in her house slippers, looking completely normal except that she's dead.
Jars of peanut butter are under the bed. Knife handles poke out of the open ones. Little fish stay stuck with peanut butter, I guess. My nostrils burn it stinks so bad. No one thought to check on her. Old people, they like their privacy. Peanut butter is crusty under her fingernails. Quick and clean, that's the only way to do this. Resolve®, that should take care of the furniture. Stain for the walls. There are a few cans in the garage, I'll fix this. Until everything looks normal. Vile, senile old hag, they would call her. Waste of space and money and life. "XOXO- I will always love my Danny-boy" on every birthday card since I was born. Years later I've let her become part of the wallpaper.
Zoned out in front of the TV, Mom and Dad don't notice the garbage bag of stinking old anchovies I carry past them...
You really are good! I want more...