Written for Mark Welker’s Blogfolio:
Heaven poured through the window. Yates, who had only begrudgingly shifted his corpulent body to the sink at the behest of his wife June, didn’t notice it. He was thinking about Survivor, which would be returning soon from an ad break. He could hear the television, but the words were not clear. He would never hear who was voted off the tribe.
Heaven pushed through the thin lace of the curtain straining through into infinitesimal spots of eternal goodness. Yates squirted more detergent into the water, then stuck a fat hand into the boiling water and swished it around. The heat struggled to filter through his skin. Yates pulled his hand out of the water, looked at its lobster-steamed appearance. Surely it should be hurting?
Heaven fell into the soapy water, cleaning dishes as it went. Yates picked up one of the heavenly plates, completely ignoring its pristine porcelain finish. The dirty dish rag only made marginal contact with the plate’s surface area. He placed it in the dish rack without looking.
Heaven creeped up Yates’ arm. Beneath his sagging skin his wasted muscle pushed up until his arm filled out like it had been when he was twenty years old. Heaven got into his blood stream. Warmth spread throughout his body and Yates smiled. He could hear Survivor.
Heaven ran through his heart.
June got up, switched the television off. She walked through the dining room and into the kitchen. Yates was lying on the floor, eyes open and crinkled at the edges. His grin was lopsided like a six year old with a bag of lollies.
The dishes were very clean.