The dictionary said the Word of the Day was ‘strife’. Not a word you can really savor, I thought. But an important word. An ominous word.
Strife: “an angry or bitter disagreement over fundamental issues; conflict.”
I came home and there was strife, in the shape of a suitcase in the hall. Strife shone through the windows and the evening fire lit the coat, the shoes, the keys by the door.
I followed the scent of strife up the stairs and into the bedroom. The rumpled bed; clothing strewn on the sheets. Closet doors open wide. Empty. Strife had emptied them.
Strife burst from the bathroom and slammed the other suitcase shut.
“Fuck you,” said Strife, pushing passed me.
Stomps on the stairs shook the house. Bottles in the bathroom clinked.
“Goodbye!” called Strife.
The door slammed.
Strife took all my baggage.