AN: This is an absurdist flash fiction piece I wrote based on the Reedsy short-story prompt “he glared at the kitchen sink in fury.” Enjoy!
Leo glared at the kitchen sink in fury, holding the remnants of his spaghetti dinner in his hands.
“Hope this pleases Your Highness,” he murmured bitterly.
With a fork he scraped off the noodles that clung desperately to the porcelain plate, and little blobs of tomato sauce plummeted to the bottom of the basin with an inelegant plop.
The sink remained obstinately silent for a moment as if collecting its thoughts on the man’s meager offerings before releasing a low groan.
Leo tapped his foot impatiently until the appliance, at last, belched obnoxiously. The mouth of the sink expanded and a large boot flew from the opening, falling to the tile floor with a thud.
Leo took a knee and scooped up the boot, inspecting it with the scrutiny of an art critic The disgruntled homeowner turned the shoe to the right, the left, then peeled back the tongue to peer inside. He found nothing.
“Where is the rest of ‘im?” he demanded, throwing the footwear over his shoulder.
The sink gave another belch more pronounced than the last one.
It wants more, the greedy bastard.
Leo took the strainer and sauce pan from the top of his stove and stalked to the sink. Grudgingly, he ladled the rest of the tomato sauce from the pan into the sink’s awaiting maw. As soon as the spicy tomato sauce was gone, he grabbed fistfuls of the angel hair pasta and literally hand-fed them down the drain.
The sink devoured the dinner, rumbled and grumbling like a stomach with indigestion.
The contraption burped again and another shoe exploded from it’s mouth, landing hard on the linoleum.
Leo slammed his fist against the countertop.
“I gave you all I have!” he bellowed. “That was the last of it! Where is he?”
The sink did not respond.
“I don’t have any more food, you fat bastard! You’ve eaten me out of house and home! Just give him back.”
He was answered with silence.
“I don’t care what them big-wigs say about your bloody rights. If you don’t give ‘im back now, I will personally rip you out and replace you with a garden hose, I will.”
To this the sink said nothing once more.
“Yeah,” the man said with a confident nod of his head, “think on that.”
Leo was close to boiling over. It was all their fault, Parliament. It had been their idea to give inanimate objects autonomy and this was the price tax-payers had to live with. Now you had a mass exodus of lorries, computers that demanded higher wages, and even laundry machines that wanted a vote in the next election.
Don’t do it, he’d said. It’ll give them airs, he’d said. And here was the proof of it. Back in his day, machines had respect for their human superiors. No longer.
Leo’s reverie was interrupted by a gurgling resonating from deep within the plumbing. He recognized it like the sound of someone about to be sick.
Finally, a large mass was pushed out from the opening of the sink, stretching the opening of the appliance like a cervix. A toddler fell end-over-end to the floor, landing soundly on his bottom. He was covered from head to toe in a slimy film that smelled like cleaning fluid. The tike’s blue eyes welled with tears that trailed down his cheeks.
The man towered over the child, arms folded across his chest. “Now what did I tell you about feeding the sink during the washing up?”
The child ducked his head guiltily and wiped the tears from his eyes with a wet sleeve.
With a roll of his eyes, the man hoisted the child up into his arms. “Come on, then. Let’s get you into the bath, eh? Let’s hope she’s in a good mood.”
Together the pair squelched to the washroom in the hopes that they wouldn’t wind up in the plumbing again.