Collective Responsibility

Shortlisted for New Writers Sense of Place Competition 2025

The doorknob still dozes in a welcome mat of chickweed. I don’t know who’s supposed to bolt it back on, but I leave it there in case they decide to do it. I throw the same thought at the ale-stained stairs, that brittle rubber band on the second landing. My rucksack snuffles at my heel. I’m grappling for keys when the air tapers to a rancid spike under my nose, declaring biological warfare. As I recoil inside the flat, something skin-soft slouches against my calf—the bin bag I should’ve tossed, obese and burst open, dribbling slush. The silence is stickier.