She was gone, leaving only a photo of her chubby adolescent daughter wearing a Batman mask and her collection of gilded objects. A cherub, a horse head–“found objects” is what she called them even though she bought each one at the mall. 

Due to her interest in “DIY” there had been a permant cloud of spray paint in our apartment and empty cans of gold spray paint next to the trashcan. After she left I opened all the windows. 

I put the photo of her child on my desk and moved her “found objects” into a pile by the door. It started to rain. I closed the windows. That night I dreamed she cut my torso open and gilded my insides. 

I woke to a thick haze of spray paint. 

I opened the windows. Once the haze lifted I found that everything in my apartment had been gilded: chairs, desk, mirror, toothbrush. Her “found objects” were gone.

The venomous scent of spray paint assaulted me. I clutched my stomach and fell to the floor. 

“Don’t be such a jerk next time.”

I looked up. Her chubby daughter was standing above me, a disapproving look peeking from behind her Batman mask.