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The thin metallic bars clinked together as he parted them with the end of his pencil.
“Do you remember your childhood?”
“A little,” she said “but only times when I was very happy, or very sad.” She sat upright at the desk closest to the door, her hands locked and resting on its surface.
“I do.” His eyes remained calm but focused as he continued to peer through the blind shades. “I used to sit by the statue in the square and look up at this window. It was so unattainable, so magnificently unreachable – its solitary majesty was mirrored only by my desire to know what was inside.” She smiled.
“And here you are.”
“Yes. Here I am.”
He stepped away from the window but did not sit down. Instead he leaned on the cabinet, facing away from her, with his hands in his pockets. He opened his mouth twice, as if to speak, but then decided against it. She remained quiet. Eventually, he said:
“Lately, I have been feeling lost.”
“Lost?” Her question was necessary for his explanation.
“I have spent twenty years trying to look through a window. Now that I can look back out, all I see is the past. Where can I go from here? Where do I turn? I have climbed Everest. I don’t want to go back down but I’m afraid of standing still.”
He sighed and sat down heavily in his chair. For the first time in fifteen minutes, he looked at her.
“Every door in my way has been a new challenge, but now that I have unlocked them all, there are no doors left. There’s nothing left for me here. Doors, hatches, windows – they’re all just part of the human machine. I have done nothing but walk an already trodden path. My children have left, and we both know that my wife and I have grown apart…” Her cheeks tinged a slight red. “There’s so much more the world can offer me.”
For a moment their gazes lingered on each other, in a comfortable silence that didn't invite conversation. A car horn sounded on the road below.
He stood up, his jacket in hand, and moved toward the door.
“It has been arranged. I apologise for the immediacy of my leave but one has to be decisive. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He opened the door and stopped. “Goodbye.”
She spoke as firmly as she could.
“If you leave, you know that there'll be no coming back. They will deny you ever worked here. It will be as though twenty years never happened. You will be back on ground level.”
“Perfect.” He closed the door.
“Do you remember your childhood?”
“A little,” she said “but only times when I was very happy, or very sad.” She sat upright at the desk closest to the door, her hands locked and resting on its surface.
“I do.” His eyes remained calm but focused as he continued to peer through the blind shades. “I used to sit by the statue in the square and look up at this window. It was so unattainable, so magnificently unreachable – its solitary majesty was mirrored only by my desire to know what was inside.” She smiled.
“And here you are.”
“Yes. Here I am.”
He stepped away from the window but did not sit down. Instead he leaned on the cabinet, facing away from her, with his hands in his pockets. He opened his mouth twice, as if to speak, but then decided against it. She remained quiet. Eventually, he said:
“Lately, I have been feeling lost.”
“Lost?” Her question was necessary for his explanation.
“I have spent twenty years trying to look through a window. Now that I can look back out, all I see is the past. Where can I go from here? Where do I turn? I have climbed Everest. I don’t want to go back down but I’m afraid of standing still.”
He sighed and sat down heavily in his chair. For the first time in fifteen minutes, he looked at her.
“Every door in my way has been a new challenge, but now that I have unlocked them all, there are no doors left. There’s nothing left for me here. Doors, hatches, windows – they’re all just part of the human machine. I have done nothing but walk an already trodden path. My children have left, and we both know that my wife and I have grown apart…” Her cheeks tinged a slight red. “There’s so much more the world can offer me.”
For a moment their gazes lingered on each other, in a comfortable silence that didn't invite conversation. A car horn sounded on the road below.
He stood up, his jacket in hand, and moved toward the door.
“It has been arranged. I apologise for the immediacy of my leave but one has to be decisive. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He opened the door and stopped. “Goodbye.”
She spoke as firmly as she could.
“If you leave, you know that there'll be no coming back. They will deny you ever worked here. It will be as though twenty years never happened. You will be back on ground level.”
“Perfect.” He closed the door.
Page:
Liked that. Familiar yet mysterious.
The thin metallic bars clinked together as he parted them with the end of his pencil.
“Do you remember your childhood?”
“A little,” she said “but only times when I was very happy, or very sad.” She sat upright at the desk closest to the door, her hands locked and resting on its surface.
“I do.” His eyes remained calm but focused as he continued to peer through the blind shades. “I used to sit by the statue in the square and look up at this window. It was so unattainable, so magnificently unreachable – its solitary majesty was mirrored only by my desire to know what was inside.” She smiled.
“And here you are.”
“Yes. Here I am.”
He stepped away from the window but did not sit down. Instead he leaned on the cabinet, facing away from her, with his hands in his pockets. He opened his mouth twice, as if to speak, but then decided against it. She remained quiet. Eventually, he said:
“Lately, I have been feeling lost.”
“Lost?” Her question was necessary for his explanation.
“I have spent twenty years trying to look through a window. Now that I can look back out, all I see is the past. Where can I go from here? Where do I turn? I have climbed Everest. I don’t want to go back down but I’m afraid of standing still.”
He sighed and sat down heavily in his chair. For the first time in fifteen minutes, he looked at her.
“Every door in my way has been a new challenge, but now that I have unlocked them all, there are no doors left. There’s nothing left for me here. Doors, hatches, windows – they’re all just part of the human machine. I have done nothing but walk an already trodden path. My children have left, and we both know that my wife and I have grown apart…” Her cheeks tinged a slight red. “There’s so much more the world can offer me.”
For a moment their gazes lingered on each other, in a comfortable silence that didn't invite conversation. A car horn sounded on the road below.
He stood up, his jacket in hand, and moved toward the door.
“It has been arranged. I apologise for the immediacy of my leave but one has to be decisive. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He opened the door and stopped. “Goodbye.”
She spoke as firmly as she could.
“If you leave, you know that there'll be no coming back. They will deny you ever worked here. It will be as though twenty years never happened. You will be back on ground level.”
“Perfect.” He closed the door.
“Do you remember your childhood?”
“A little,” she said “but only times when I was very happy, or very sad.” She sat upright at the desk closest to the door, her hands locked and resting on its surface.
“I do.” His eyes remained calm but focused as he continued to peer through the blind shades. “I used to sit by the statue in the square and look up at this window. It was so unattainable, so magnificently unreachable – its solitary majesty was mirrored only by my desire to know what was inside.” She smiled.
“And here you are.”
“Yes. Here I am.”
He stepped away from the window but did not sit down. Instead he leaned on the cabinet, facing away from her, with his hands in his pockets. He opened his mouth twice, as if to speak, but then decided against it. She remained quiet. Eventually, he said:
“Lately, I have been feeling lost.”
“Lost?” Her question was necessary for his explanation.
“I have spent twenty years trying to look through a window. Now that I can look back out, all I see is the past. Where can I go from here? Where do I turn? I have climbed Everest. I don’t want to go back down but I’m afraid of standing still.”
He sighed and sat down heavily in his chair. For the first time in fifteen minutes, he looked at her.
“Every door in my way has been a new challenge, but now that I have unlocked them all, there are no doors left. There’s nothing left for me here. Doors, hatches, windows – they’re all just part of the human machine. I have done nothing but walk an already trodden path. My children have left, and we both know that my wife and I have grown apart…” Her cheeks tinged a slight red. “There’s so much more the world can offer me.”
For a moment their gazes lingered on each other, in a comfortable silence that didn't invite conversation. A car horn sounded on the road below.
He stood up, his jacket in hand, and moved toward the door.
“It has been arranged. I apologise for the immediacy of my leave but one has to be decisive. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He opened the door and stopped. “Goodbye.”
She spoke as firmly as she could.
“If you leave, you know that there'll be no coming back. They will deny you ever worked here. It will be as though twenty years never happened. You will be back on ground level.”
“Perfect.” He closed the door.
Page: