Mess - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Harry pushed his door open against the tide of objects that littered the floor on the other side. He couldn't see even a square centimeter of his bedroom carpet. He picked his way across the room on tiptoe, trying not to stand on any of his coursework. The important school work was of course mixed up with several pairs of underpants, sweaty t-shirts, a pair of jeans and several library books.
My nose immediately wrinkles in disgust...Over the years the doors of liquor and vomit, boiled cabbage and burnt meat, unwashed clothes and mouse droppings have intermingled into a stench that brings tears to my eyes. I wade through a litter of discarded wrappings, broken glass and bones to where I know I will find Haymitch.
Her bedroom wasn't just a mess, it was a disaster zone. It looked like a drunken cyclone had erupted in her closed strewing her clothes across the floor, then made it's haphazard way across to the desk to do the same to her school work. The only clues that this uber-chaos was human made were the partially drunken cups of tea littered about the floor and bedside table in various states of mold growth.
Bits of lego, fragments of fraying string, tiny triangles of construction paper from yesterday's mosaic project, a cheerio and a raisin; all of them lie on the entrance hall rug waiting to greet an visitors that happen to stop by.
On the rug lies several plastic beads, an assortment of primary colours, some transparent, some opaque. This mess has spilled out her daughter's bedroom. She's supposed to keep her mess in there. Susan frowns and purses her lips to her fresh cup of coffee. She refuses to be disturbed by picking up mess, this is her time, her peaceful, tranquil time in her own living room.
Georgie wrinkled her nose at the stench that wafted up at her from Michael's room, mix of stale coffee and mouse droppings. She gagged in disgust. She yearned to go back upstairs, but Michael hadn't come up for two whole days now, and she was getting worried. She stumbled over a misplaced shoe, stubbing her big toe on the corner of his guitar. An eerie, screeching sound reverberated in her ears. It needed to be tuned. Groping around the wall, her fingers found the light switch. But already she had stumbled over leaky spots in the low ceiling that left her fingers moist and sticky.
Georgie groaned and wiped her hands off on her jeans. The lights flickered on, illuminating the basement. It was a jungle of dirty clothes and uneaten food, homework and textbooks. Georgie began to wade through the mess. Empty cereal boxes littered the floor. Occasional pillows surfaced from the sea of dirt, thrown from the bed in the far corner of the room, where broken lamps lived in abundance. But even in danger of broken glass and vermin, Georgie's mind could only clearly form one thought.
"Where is Michael?"