dirty laundry

An octopus climbed into my washing basket this morning. His tentacles wrapped around my dangling stockings and he hauled himself up and nestled into the sheets. I poured him into the top loader, doused him with the remainder of the washing powder that hadn’t been spilt over the floor, closed the lid and pressed start. It didn’t take long for him to find a spot to unbalance the machine, making it spill all over the laundry mat and then freeze to a halt. In the dryer I noticed him spit little ink droplets on my whites and then he followed me all the way home. I tried to escape to the pool up the road. I thought he’d lost sight of me as I slid in, submerged myself and paddled with all my might. I felt the webbing in my hands and toes expand and my breath adjust and I turned onto my back and let the water stream over my shoulders. But as I opened my eyes, I could see he had clawed himself up into the sky, arms outstretched like a giant tent above me and he wept now, poured his poison all over me and the ink got in my eyes and I couldn’t see where I was swimming anymore, so I climbed out and ran for cover. Under the tree, I picked up a towel from this mornings wash and it smelt clean and felt warm and comforting on my skin. I wrapped it tightly around myself as I walked out into the winter day, willing it to hug me just a little bit harder, as I heard his arms slap on the concrete behind me, propelling himself forward. He stayed close all the way back home and squeezed into the shower with me where I sat on the tiles and hung my head. My wet hair clung to my body like a net and I started to sob into it a little. Mr octopus must have gotten a bit scared, for as the ink washed out of my eyes and I picked myself back up, I finally saw him disappear down the drain.