Leaning as far into the shallow doorway as possible, I feel the cold metal against my breasts even through the thin layer of fabric covering them for now.
Some asshole, happy to be home from whatever hell made him wear such an aweful tie, is chirping hello to me while passing up the hall.
Tears almost win out over years of training. My thumb is pressing the clunking button on the door again. If nobody comes this time, I'm leaving empty-handed.
Sign up now to give notes to the Scrawlers you're reading and scrawl your own stories.
This is gorgeous. It took a few readings for me to truly understand the depth of it, and that's a good thing. I didn't just read it...I felt it.
Bravo!
A lot of great images in here, and I'm a sucker for sensory-driven writing. It is, however, unclear to me what the "cold metal" is. I like the "tears" vs. "training" and it's near-alliteration.
It's a piece of writing you want to unveil. Like a riddle with raw emotion. It has so much feeling but I'm left wondering if I really know what's happening. Like it's supposed to be that way, I mean obviously the guy passing doesn't know the intensity of the situation, do I? Really?