Yesterday, I shared the first part of the only fictional short story I ever wrote. This is the very first time that I’m sharing this piece. I never really showed it to anyone because I didn’t think it was much. But thank you all for reading it and sharing your feedback. Here is the second part. And I will post the final part tomorrow. I broke it into three parts because I don’t like posting long stories. (But I love reading long stories). Again, let me know what you think.
Here is the part II, you can read part I in my previous post.
Just Another Day (pt2)
Her spine is thrown into a semicircle as if a hammer hit her back. She chokes and gasps for air. Her fingers find the edge of the bed and tighten to a strong grip there. She is dazed, not able to make any sense of the place or the time.
Still dazzled by the trigger of an electric sensation, she pulls herself up, tucks a sweat-soaked lock of hair behind her ear, and shakes her head to shed off the fuzziness. Curtains are drawn so she cannot tell if the darkness still lurks out there or it has succumbed to the silky sunlight. She reaches out her hand, eyes still on the camouflaging curtains, and rummages through the antique nightstand, taps her fingertips the cold surface until she finds her cell-phone.
She pushes one of the buttons and squints to make out numbers on the blurry background. It’s 8 am. An oh, it’s too early! almost makes it out of her foggy mind, but an oh, crap I’m late! echoes inside her skull, ringing her ears and twisting her stomach.
She rushes into the bathroom, buries her face in icy water, brushes her teeth, and then drying her mouth with the back of her hand, she freezes. The girl in the mirror stares back at her with wide surprised eyes. She searches through her image.
WOW! Her skin is glowing, she has always been pale, but this morning her skin is flawless marble, shining, even sparkling under the dim light. Her clear grey eyes sparkle, with long mascara-free eyelashes, framed with two perfectly plucked eyebrows. Her usually white lips are a slightly blushed pink. Her dark hair hangs in a brown waterfall down to her waist.
This reflection startles her since her typical morning look is dark bags under puffy eyes looking at her in the mirror while she runs her hands through a disheveled mess of hair. The jolt of I’m-late shock strikes her again. She puts on a white shirt and a black knee-length skirt and stumbles down the stairs.
Her right hand is busy putting lipstick on her lips and her purse is clinging on to her left elbow. A wasp of damp spring air brushes against her face as she pulls the front door open. She stands there gawking at the scene which does not really suit her damsel-in-distress situation.
Tiny crystal drops of rain softly drizzle over the gloomy New York City. The sky is trapped in angry grey clouds. Chewing her lower lip, she glances down at her wristwatch to check if she can afford going back upstairs to grab her white umbrella. It’s 8.15. She lets out a sigh, shelters her head with her black leather purse, and springs into the drenched sidewalk.
No cabs are around. She nervously eyes the deserted street just to spot through her wet and blurry vision the only crowded part of the block, the bus stop. Murmuring through grinding teeth, “well desperate times”, she marches towards a herd of damp-clothed people. Tapping her high heels into a miniature puddle of raindrops, Sally waits anxiously for the bus. The comforting sight of a huge metal mass interrupts her silent prayer; please don’t let this screw up my promotion.
With half of her mind concentrated on not falling and the other half on what excuse will she feed Billy- her jerk of a boss –she tightly hugs a cold silver pole. So far her mental list of potential excuses is blank. For the life of her, she cannot think of anything. All the stressing out had leveled down her IQ. Her forehead bumps into the iron-hard pole and throws listless Sally instantly into her senses. She lets out a squeak and slides through the crowd towards the door.
Her heart is pounding in her throat, practically choking her into a coma, she halts and takes in some soothing spring-coated air, then as the blood starts to drain away from her brain she hurries into the tall intimidating building. Her high heels banging against the lustrous granite floor echo a rhymed beat in the hollow lobby. Thankfully the elevator is resting there, doors invitingly open. She swoops into the elevator, lifts one shaky finger, and presses number sixteen red.
The creak of the opening doors reveals Billy’s frustrated face, Maggie -her catty coworker-, and Pete -the godly beautiful editor. She keeps her head down blocking everyone from her vision in a vain attempt to avoid an ugly confrontation.
She looks up and steadies her eyes on Billy’s face which is buried in a coffee mug. It makes her nauseous, but giving the situation that he is the boss and she is the helpless petty employee, she stifles the urge to gag. Billy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand (another gag-attack hits Sally) and then gives her a big bossy speech which in sum implies; do not ever forget that I’m better than you.
Today Sally just stiffens in utter silence, puts on her imaginary Billy-proof earphones, and just watches his jaw go up and down. This time she doesn’t do this to buy herself time to go through a defensive speech of her own. Today she knows the accusation finger is pointing to her. Although she has pointed a few fingers already; the alarm clock, the silly rain, the stupid bus, the maddening traffic, her pathetic life.
The instant Billy’s speech is over, Sally scurries to her desk like a bullet.
Shoving aside a set of paper clippers and yellow pencils, she places her purse on the exposed steel. She quickly eyes the office for a millisecond sight of Pete. But nothing. Disappointed, she turns her face to the colourful screen and puts herself on autopilot mode typing, clicking, and documenting.
Maggie’s high pitched voice fills the background, her auburn curly locks bouncing in the air. Sally mentally crosses her fingers, wishing this is just an illusion, but a light pat on her shoulder proves is to be as real. She stifles an urge to bite Maggie’s perfectly manicured claws off her, puts on her best fake smile and nods at the Mag-labber on their way to the cafeteria.
Her mind is too soon bored and drifts to her dreamland with Pete, him in a suit, leaning on the counter, shooting her a flirting smile, his eyes giving away the existing chemistry between them.
Soon they are entering the cafeteria and mag-labber had somehow gotten about how great Leonardo Dicaprio was in The Great Gatsby. Sally shakes her head to force her eyes not to roll and scans the gobbling crowd perching on the diner booths. She focuses her disappointed gaze on the big mouth-watering menu on the wall. As always, she is torn between hot wings and a cheese-y burger. Wings are fun to chomp on uncivilized style, but a French fry accompanied cheeseburger could really make her happy.
Her delicious reverie is smashed into pieces as Maggie pulls her right arm and leads her to a booth. Sally continues fantasizing about a juicy grilled beef, topped with ham that explodes in your mouth, and yellow fine cheese lazily melted on them.
Low and husky voices bubbling up from the booth snap her back into reality. She manages to see three definitely-male heads on one side of the booth. Maggie settles into a crappy conversation about sports. Sally gets ready to employ one of her noise canceling techniques when the hair on the nape of her neck lift to the mention of Pete’s name. – Oh my Freaking God. Did she say, Pete? Holy crap what do I do? What do I do?
She lifts her head, which feels like a bazillion pounds now, and nods at Scott and Jim as a decent greeting and then fixates her heavy gaze on Pete. Everything else in the background crumbles into ashes. He is in a pale blue shirt, loosely covering his fit body. His tousled golden hair frame his cute face. His lips are curled up showing off a row of white teeth. As the smile spreads along his face, wrinkles become visible around his eyes, making him even lovelier. Is he really spotlight-worthy, or is it just in her head? His clear blue eyes, busy looking at Jim, are oblivious to her presence.
As frozen as she is, her consciousness keeps up with reality. Pete turns in her direction and twinkle at her. Her heart drops to her stomach, in half a heartbeat the background coalesces, only now it is spinning around her. She feels the boiling blood rushing into her cheeks searing all the way. Her natural reflexes lead her way from first clutching her jaw to bowing her head down, and picking at her nails. Something throbbing against her chest tells her that her heart is back in place.
The heat surging through her face paints her cheeks pink. She stiffens to calm down the turmoil that is dislocating every everything in her body. She will never recover from this destructive paradise. Get it together stupid, who is obvious now? I’m gonna beat the crap out of my luck when I have a private conversation with it! Shit! Shit! Shit! She internally murmurs with shut lips.
“Hey Sally, don’t be coy, tell us” Maggie teases.
To be continued