Sun filters through the windows, and I can see dust motes floating like tiny planets in the universe of my house.

I think of "Horton Hears A Who" and wonder if there are minute citizens living on them. I dismiss this crazy thought, soon, I will be whisked off to a mental institution if I keep it up. I need to get busy and clean this house.

I wonder where the dust mop is. Ah. There, standing behind the cupboard, staring at me, beady eyes glaring through the fuzzy stuff that makes up its head. I don't like it, so I avert my gaze.

"Hey, look at me." It demands my attention, so I look at it again.

"You can't talk. Shut up." Mops only talk on the television.

"You have dust bunnies under your bed." It informs me of something that I already know. I take a drag from my cigarette, contemplating this.

"What's it to you, anyhow? I should throw you in the trash." I blow smoke in the direction of the mop and it squints its eyes.

"The bunnies will take you over, if you don't employ me soon." The mop speaks more truth.

"Well, so? They aren't that bad, are they?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Okay, I'll get to it soon." Even though I know I won't. There are too many other things to do first. Dishes, a quick dinner, television and I have to do some laundry too. It's overwhelming. So I ignore it all and go watch the dust motes some more.

I sit on the edge of the bed, now empty and cold. The one I love is gone and he will never come back. Time seems to stand still and I eventually lean over to take a nap. It feels good to just sleep sorrow away.

And sometime in the indigo blue of the midnight hour, the dust bunnies fill my house. And as I try to call for help, they are suddenly everywhere. Multiplying like rabbits. I scream and try to find my cell phone.

I can no longer breathe. The dust bunnies have taken my breath away.