sexta-feira, fevereiro 24, 2017

Micro-Fiction, Text 003: "The Lift" by Myselfie

I met her in a lift, just like the one that you are in now. In fact if you were to push me further I might tell you that it was the lift that you are in now. I stood, just as you are now, watching the sequence of lights as the lift gently eased its way between floors. This smooth, vertical journey a gentle distraction from the day’s events. Music played quietly, yet loudly enough to make me hum its variations of tunes for the rest of the evening. We came to a gentle halt and a tired sounding bell accompanied the gentle easing open of the doors. And there she stood, in such a way that an actress might stand, stage curtains parted, presenting herself to me. She had to be the one. She didn’t notice me at first; she was texting on her mobile. I stood to one side allowing her more room than she needed to enter the lift, my courtesy hoping to impress. She stepped in, found her place and, hardly looking up from her business she confidently stabbed at a button on the wall, which obediently lit for her. As the lights flickered and the floors fell away the lift became filled with her pleasant, floral perfume. A scent that I was not familiar with but knew that I could grow to like. My head now fixed on the directional arrow shaped lights above the door, I strained my eyes to my right to see her finish with her mobile and put it into her bag, from where she immediately took out a lipstick and began applying it. By now I had been in this lift for some time and earlier in the day I had been in another lift in another building so I was aware of a tackiness under my shirt sleeves. She finished with the lipstick put it back into her bag and glanced in my direction. I could feel her quick assessment of me. I have been told that I have an open, gentle face, a face that one might trust. I turned that face toward her and she obviously agreed, as she gave me a smile. I returned the compliment and we had a brief exchange concerning the reliability of the device in which we were then enclosed. It did not feel appropriate for me to push the conversation too much at this time, there would be plenty of time for that and this one seemed feisty, a little more of a challenge than of late. The lift finally arrived at the ground floor with a gentle bump and the doors opened to present us with the foyer of the hotel. I felt a slight wooziness as I followed her through the exit door, this is usual, it would take a few moments to once more get accustomed to being on solid ground. And then, it was just a case of trailing her, and picking the right time.

Microfiction. Text 002: "An Orange-white Umbrella of Fire Bent From the Pod's Surface" by Myselfie
Microfiction. Text 001: "Jagged Pieces of Light Inspired by Rajaniemi's Fiction" by Myselfie

2 comentários:

Book Stooge disse...

This guy comes across as a stalker/murderer just waiting to happen.

Manuel Antão disse...

Indeed. The rest is up to your imagination...