It was sticky, sweet, and chunky. It was all her favorite textures and tastes. It was like a beam of golden light hit her tongue the second she brought the spoon to her lips. Her kitchen was filled to the brim with empty jars. The last of the residue licked out of each, the lids scattered on the floor like land mines. The flies had tried to come, once, and realized their work was futile compared to hers.
She opened one of her cupboards and gazed at the stuffed shelves. She knew there was more, there would always be more, but she still reveled in the excess. The gross overconsumption was the only thing that brought her the tincture she needed when the thick, goopy preserves were not coating her insides.
Sometimes she mixed things up. She toasted a single piece of bread, she cut open a ripe, green pear, once she even coated a piece of pepperoni pizza in it. But these actions were solely for nutritional purposes. Not pleasure. And she tried to live her life in a constant state of pleasure. Bliss. With nothing but the fruity mixture to satiate her desires.
The only problem she faced was the landlord. She knew about the rumors, the whisperings from her neighbors. The landlord had tried to come by a few months back but was met with a double-bolted locked door and silence. She couldn’t let him in, she couldn’t let anyone in. The only time she opened the door to peek into the dimly lit hallway that smelled of old cigarettes and cat piss was to get the mail and pick up her weekly delivery. Almost too heavy to carry, but her arms had grown accustomed to the weight of the box.
She kept the cupboard open while she looked at the notice in her hands. It was from the landlord, dated three days ago. He was coming to inspect her property. “Routine inspection” it said, but she knew better. She knew what he was after.
The inspection was expected today at 3pm. She looked at the clock: 1:25. The floor was still littered with lids, the counter space stacked with empty containers. The living room the same, every room the same. Where could she put it all?
She walked into the bathroom and looked at the tub. It was one of the few places in her home that didn’t hold her secret. She climbed in, an open jar in her left hand, her right fingers dipping in and scooping the syrupy medley into her mouth. It gave her the clarity she needed.
She exited the tub, her fingernails scraping up the last bit left in the bottom of the jar, a sweet treat that would harden for later. She opened all her cupboards and removed every full jar. In less than an hour, she’d emptied them all into the tub. The colors melded together and sat still like an aspic on Christmas morning. She checked the clock: 2:33.
After her clothes were removed, she lowered herself into the tub. The sweetness in the air was overwhelming her nose. She took another look around her, had one final taste from the mound on top of her chest, and went under.