The stench of decay floods my nostrils, and with my arm pressed to my nose and mouth, I make a futile attempt to block the vile odor. I stride past the rot decomposing in the sun, having been left to the elements. It has rained for days.

Inside, I locate a lawn and leaf bag from beneath the kitchen sink, shoving aside cans and bottles of cleaners and polish. Their pungent odors offer my lungs a brief reprieve. With a snap of the wrist, I flap the bag open and steel myself for the task at hand.

Outside, my dreaded duty awaits. I do what I must. With the base of my palm, gaze askance, I deposit the disgusting remains into the bag. With the addition of each bloated fragment, the bag weighs heavier, its dead cargo stretching taut the brown plastic.

The wretched contents now contained, I swallow, fighting the roiling in my stomach. The smell. The sight. The gruesome remains.

I twist the bag to seal its contents and heave it away from the site of slow demise. I tug, alternately wrapping the bag’s end around one hand and then the other. The flimsy plastic tears into my palm, first one hand and then the other. I wince as it cuts off circulation at my wrist.

Stopping, I take in my surroundings, how far I’ve come. Leaves, sodden from the rain, clump rather than crinkle beneath my feet. I allow myself this short reprieve. I rub the tender skin of my palms and wrists, knowing my task is yet incomplete.

My gaze rises to the road ahead. Only yards to go.

With a breath to fortify me for the remainder of my journey, I proceed, lugging the unholy baggage, dragging it over ruts, tree roots, and finally the low curb.

At last, I’ve done what was necessary. What no one else had the courage or the will to do. With a final effort, I muster enough muscle to pull the sodden, putrid mess to its final resting place. I sigh with satisfaction.

My gaze falls to the path behind me, to the trail of wetness I unwittingly left behind. The vile liquid that seeped through the tears in the bag defiles the pavement in long, dark streaks dotted with bits of my decomposing cargo.

Shoving down my revulsion, I raise my chin and fix my gaze on the clouds now dissipating overhead. Sunlight and a brilliant blue sky give wings to my weary soul. My onus is lifted.

Photo by lisaleo, Morguefile.

My annual chore of hauling away the rotted jack o’lanterns was especially gruesome this year due to low-quality gourds and lots of rain. As I completed the thankless chore, leaving a trail of pumpkin guts behind me, I couldn’t help thinking of the sensory details that made the experience ripe for a little flash fiction.

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