Arthur set the timer for six hours, stepped onto the porch, and locked the door. Through the window, he watched the machine hum to life. A faint, violet glow pulsed from its vents. Almost immediately, the air inside began to shimmer.
He spent the afternoon at a diner, imagining the crisp, alpine scent that would greet him. He thought about the yellowed wallpaper and the lingering ghost of tobacco finally vanishing.
When the machine arrived, it looked like a vintage radiator mated with a jet engine. The manual was a single, photocopied page with a warning in bold:
Arthur panicked and ran to the kitchen. The linoleum had vanished, revealing the raw, scorched subfloor. The machine had finished its cycle, sitting innocently in the center of the ruin.
He stood in the center of the sterile, scentless void, finally understanding the warning. Oxidization wasn't just a process. It was an eviction. 💡