a mess

How to begin? I live in one of those council flats in Spon End – you know what it’s like, they’re all the same. Drab and dingy they cower against the grey serpent that is the ring road; both a reminiscence of the 60s futile strife for modernity carved in concrete. In one of these I live. The windowpane on the corridor is shattered, the staircase smells of piss, the air is stale and the colour on the walls is perished and coming off. When I moved in, they told me I’d even have an en-suite bathroom. What a joke, this is a one-room flat.
I worked the night-shifts down at the post office until they sacked me two months ago. Finding it hard to readjust, I usually stay awake at night and retire in the morning. Now that it is November, I hardly ever get to see daylight. I don’t mind. This part of town looks better in the dark, anyway.
A few nights ago, I must have overdone it a little. I’d been reading Murakami’s A Wild Sheep Chase, a book like a ceaseless drizzle slowly seeping through the layers of your soul until you feel all wet and forlorn. Suddenly, everything seemed pretty pointless. I was weary. Feeling incredibly tired, but unable to sleep, I resorted to my usual nightcap: a few painkillers washed down with cheap whisky. Next thing I remember is me lying on the carpet, fully dressed. The pile had left an imprint on my arms and face. Outside, it was already dark. I groped for the alarm clock – half eleven. Bloody hell! Drowsily, I got up and went to have a shower to get rid of the drugged feeling. After, I felt a little better. Taking a look in the mirror, it occurred to me that it had been days since I last shaved. I lathered my face, took the razor and damn near cut myself as the doorbell rang fervently – once, twice, thrice. I flinched and, muttering a few words I won’t bother to repeat here, shuffled to the door to peer through the spyhole. Nothing. Cautiously, I opened the door a little… and before I could say Jack Robinson (not that I had even tried to), there was a foot in the gap. The foot, however, was not alone. It belonged to a squat little man in a non-descript but rather ill-fitting dark suit. Without saying a word, the dumpy fellow pushed me aside and entered my room. I was too startled to object. My reaction will become infinitely more understandable if you consider the fact that I was but a very skinny lad who wore nothing but shaving cream and a towel slung suavely round his waist. The intruder, though, did not seem to take any notice of my unfortunate situation. He freely wandered – no, waddled (Did I just call him squat? He was more bordering on the obese, if I’m to be precise.) – about and took in his surroundings. His shoes left black stripes on the linoleum. This assault on my privacy seemed plainly absurd. Sheepishly, I cleared my throat.
“So, this is it, then” he exclaimed after a while in a high-pitched, shrieking voice.
“Er… this is what, exactly?”
“Don’t you feel ashamed?”
“Of what?” I asked, exasperated.
“Well…” He stretched the word, modulating his voice, high, low, high. He was obviously enjoying himself. “What have we here? A bowl of damsons, all gone mouldy. Three empty cans of coke, one of them full of cigarette butts. Seems someone did not do his chores for quite some time. An ashtray, teabags and chewing gum inside!” Triumphantly, he grinned at me. His chubby cheeks started to glow. “I dare say normal people would certainly use the ashtray for the ashes, don’t you agree?”
“I don’t think this is any of your bloody busi…”
“Ah, ah, ah.” He pointed his fat, small finger at me. For a moment, I was so confused that I lowered my head and stared at my hands like a little boy. “This place is somewhat of a mess, don’t you think? Worn underwear on the desk, a pile of records on the floor. And what is that there, on top of it?”
“A… a cup?” I stuttered.
“A dirty cup, to be precise. A very dirty cup. Grimy. With some indefinable residues of something in it.” He made a show of being disgusted. “What do we do with it?”
“Empty it into the toilet and sluice it down?” I guessed.
“So?”
“So?”
“I am waiting and I have a lot of time.” It was unbelievable – only it seemed very, very real. I couldn’t help it; my legs didn’t ask for permission, they just wandered over to the stack of records and then I also lost control of my arms: they acted of their own accord. Disbelievingly, I picked up the cup and took it to the bathroom. I had to get a grip on myself. The man followed me, delightfully watching my every move. When I had emptied the cup, he commanded, “And now flush.” I did. I really had to get a grip on myself. I considered my options. He was still inspecting the toilet bowl – probably, he was finding some fault with it as well. Furtively, I pushed one of my dirty socks that I had thrown on the floor when undressing towards the bathroom door. Then I gave it a good kick. It landed near the entrance, which was still open. Startled, the dumpy fellow looked up and went, “Ah, so you’re trying to hide something from me! A sock. Sweet. You should have realised by now that such manoeuvres do not get you anywhere. I even know about the porn collection you keep hidden so meticulously under your mite-infested mattress.” I flinched. What the fuck was going on?
“Nothing will escape my eye, not even this stinking, lousy sock.” He waddled over to the door. With glee I watched him take the bait. I cast my head down, looking all mortified. Elatedly, he beamed at me from below, then bent down to pick up the fugitive piece of clothing. With a lot of effort, obviously hampered by his weight, he managed to grab it. That was my cue: I streaked towards him and shoved him out into the corridor. He lost his balance. I smashed the door shut and locked from inside. Then, my heart still racing, I went to the bathroom to wash the shaving cream off my face. All the while, I heard him shuffle and groan outside. I sneaked over to my bed and burrowed in the sheets. I was scared out of my wits.
The first few hours, the bell rang several times. Then he resorted to knocking. After a while, it stopped. All this has been three days now. I’ve been drifting in and out of sleep ever since, not daring to move other than for taking a leak. Whenever I get near the door, I can still hear him tapping his foot…

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Oh yes, I've sunk so low as to let you read my homework.