Elevator from the past

You’re stuck in an elevator with a person from your past.
Write this scene.

This is a May 28 task.

But I desperately needed to write that story down.

This isn't for me this time.

I hope, you will enjoy it ^^

 The light turned off, when the elevator, with a terrible noisy sigh, stopped. 

"Awesome," - her inner voice was poisoned with sarcasm. - "Today is definately not YOUR day, Sam. You were late for work, spoiled your best blouse with coffee, and now... Being stuck in a small dark elevator with him. Nice."

- An unexpected stop, - his voice, low and harsh, typical for heavy-smokers, sounded scary to her. - Lucky, I don't hurry anywhere. And you?

Her eyes, which she has closed to adjust to a sudden darkness, immediately opened, when she heard him talking to her.

- No...I don't, - answered she softly, trying to see his silhouette in the corner of the elevator, but failed.

- Nice. I heard you've been already late today, huh? - it seemed to her she could almost physically feel him smiling ironically at her, so she decided that there would be no reply to that. She put her red umbrella on the floor and scratched her nose instead, something she got used to do, whenever she felt nervous. And she did feel nervous right now, standing so close to him.

He was tall, with strong shoulders and mischievious smile, a little bit older than her. They worked together, she was just a secretary, and his job was connected with computers and computer programmes. But he has never spend much time in the office, he could come and leave his working place whenever he wanted to, like a stray cat. He was the best friend of Sam's boss, who, being so precise and strict about the rules everyone in the office should obey, seemed not to notice that his friend couldn't care less about his duties or even dress-code. Among all the black and white dressed boring people, working there, he, in his ragged jeans and red sneakers, looked like a thin ray of sun in a foggy rainy morning. He was smart, his jokes were always funny and he attracted people to himself like a magnet. Every girl in the office wished she could have been on Sam's place right now. But she didn't like that situation at all, because everytime he was around her, he made her feel nervous and uncomfortable. She didn't want to admit the fact that she liked him in a way someone likes and admires a person, who has strength and will to do things you never even dare think of. He was alive, and she was black and white and boring. And she hated that.

- Well, maybe we should do something? - she broke the silence first and immediately felt an urge to slap herself in the face for that.

- Like what? - his voice was filled with irony.

"You are not a small stupid girl, Sam," - she heard her inner voice trembling with displeasure. - "Don't allow him to talk to you like that".

- Press the buttons, for example, - she replied bitterly. - I don't know, it's you, who knows how to deal with gadgets.

She heard him moving, but she couldn't see, what he was doing.

- It's not a gadget, Sam, - he said patiently, still producing some noise. - It's an elevator of the biggest business-centre of the city. Sooner or later it will work again.

Suddenly there came light. Sam closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, she could see him smiling at her. The mild light, which was produced by the fire of his cigarette lighter, was dancing in his dark blue eyes.

- I don't like it, when I can't see the face of a person I'm talking to, - explained he to Sam in a plain tone. - Now it's better, right, Sam?

"No, it's worse", - she thought, feeling goosebumps on her skin.

- And...how, how do you know my name? - she asked him before she had a chance to think that question over.

- We're working together, Sam. Remember? - his indulgent tone hurted her a bit. - I work with every laptop in the office. Yours is very interesting.

She bit her lower lip, thinking his words over. A sudden thought, which came to her mind, made her almost scream at him.

- What did your read there?!

He smiled again, then turned off and turned on his lighter again.

- Read? Me? - he asked, looking surprised. - I haven't read anything there. I just wanted to say that those selfies with you and your cat are kinda cute.

She felt her cheeks turned red.

- Well, thanks. - she snapped, avoiding his eyes.

He kept silent for a couple of minutes, and then he turned off his lighter and took her shaking hand in his.

- I lied, - he said quietly. -  I've read that...what you're writing, you know.

Sam felt like the air in her lungs suddenly vanished, so she instinctively squeezed his hand and made a deep breath.

- No one knew it. No one was supposed to know. No one..., - she whispered frantically, still holding his hand. - How dare you...?!

- And how dare YOU to keep your unfinished novel at your working laptop? - he said. - Everyone could have read it there. If it's so precious to you, then you should have kept it at home.

Sam felt an urge to slap him in the face too.

All her life she dreamt to become a writer. It wasn't her only talent, though, but writing was the only thing, which brought her joy and made her happy. She has been working on her first novel for three years already, and she kept a copy of that document at work, because inspiration is an unexpected thing, and she sometimes had a need for writing some things at work, when she was not busy.

And he read it.
The most horrifying person in the whole office has read her work.

Now it was he, who broke the silence first.

- I'm sorry, Sam.

- Shut up.

- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that.

She heard him breathing heavily.

- The only thing I can add that...I've read it till the end, your novel. And I liked it.

She looked at him, but couldn't see his face in the darkness. His voice lacked irony and sarcasm now. It sounded...normal, and it was strange and unfamiliar to hear him talking to anyone like that.

- I've spent four hours there, reading it. And I was surprised, you know, I thought you are only good at making coffee. And I was mistaken. You are smart and talented. Such a job isn't for you.

Her eyes were filled with tears, when the light turned on and an elevator, with a squeaky sound, went down. She looked straight in his eyes, trying to see his mischievious smile again, but his face remained serious.

- And what is for me, then? - she asked him, her lips were dry and trembling.

- Writing, - his answer was simple, his smile was nice and warm this time. - You are a dreamer, Sam. Don't give up on it.

The elevator stopped, its metal doors opened slowly, when he picked up her umbrella and gave it to her. They left the elevator and then the building together.

The sky above them was darkish grey, and it was raining a bit.

- I hate such a weather, - he said, not looking at Sam. - You're lucky to have a big umbrella.

Before she found some strength to reply, he has already left the porch, heading somewhere.

- See you tomorrow, Sam! - she heard him saying.

She stood on the porch for a moment, then sat on the step and pulled a piece of paper and a pencil out of her bag. She desperately needed to write something down right now.

Menagerie

Do you have animals in your life? If yes, what do they mean
to you? If no, why have you opted not to?

That was a task for March, 19.

Yep ; ))

When I was a five-year-old girl, my childhood didn't have anything in common with bags of sweets. 

I needed a friend.

I've got some though, but I wanted to have someone, who could be by my side every single minute. 

A friend ... or even more that that - a saviour. 

I've met my saviour on a cold Sunday morning. 

I was sixteen and He was one month old, small enough to fit my palm perfectly. 

The first thing, which came to my mind, when I saw that fluffy creature, was something about me becoming responsible for Him. But I've come to realize, that it was He, who has always been and is still here for me.  

Thank you so much,

Nelson the Cat.  

Places

Beach, mountain, forest, or somewhere else entirely?

This is the task for March, 2nd,

but I won't have time for this tomorrow. 

P.S. I guess, it should be a place, which really exists, right?

I'm not gonna mess up with rules again, I promise )) 

She woke up and found herself on the front seat of the car, it took her several deep breaths to calm down and remember, that she hasn't been kidnapped. She rubbed her neck and took a look at the driver's seat, which was empty. The second thing to realise was the fact, that the car wasn't moving, but parked in front of a huge single-storey building. 

- ACME, - she read the huge letters at the top of the building, which were shining brightly in the darkened sky.

She looked at the supermarket again and decided to get out of the car. It was a little bit chilly outside, so she got goosebumps on her arms, but the summer air was pure. She made several deep breaths and was just about getting her camera to take some photos of that place, when he heard his steps behind.

- You've woken up already? - he asked, approaching her. - I thought you would sleep till the morning. 

- I can't sleep when I'm sitting, you know, - she tried to explain, but wasn't sure he got it. She was always afraid of being understood in a wrong way, cause English wasn't her mothertongue. He was smiling as usual and had a paper bag in his hands.

- I was hungry, - explained he and took something out of the bag. - But I didn't know, what do you want to eat, so... - There was TWIX on his palm. 

- Thank you, - she replied politely, taking the chocolate. - But I am not really hungry.

There came several silent minutes. He was eating the sandwich, he bought in ACME, while she was looking around, which was easier now, when they've turned on the street lanterns. It was a spacious parking place, surrounded by ACME and some little shops, there was also a main road on her right and another road divided by a row of trees behind them. 

- Are you sure, you don't want to eat? - he inquired, when he started to smoke. - There's Wendy's and Burger King nearby, right down the street. - He smiled broadly, mocking her being keen on fast food restaurants, his warm eyes were looking right at her, expecting her smart reply, but there was none. She turned around herself instead and stared at the main road. 

- What's the name of this place? - she asked, not looking at him. 

- I don't know, a small town, - he answered and opened a door of the car. - Maybe, it's marked on the map. 

- You've passed by Philadelphia about half an hour ago, haven't you? - her voice was trembling. 

- Yes. 

He felt she was a little bit nervois, but didn't know why, so he hurried up to find their map. 

- And there's a drug store over there, - her finger pointed at a small building in front of them. - On the corner. 

- Right you are, - he replied, noticing that there wasn't an interrogatory tone in her voice. She's been already aware of it.  

She turned around fast, so her hair in a ponytail slightly touched his face. Her eyes were glowing in the lanterns' light. 

- It's Paoli, - she said in a low voice. And he, finally holding the map in his hands, knew she was right somehow. 

The next thing he remembered was him following her in the darkness down the main road, Lancaster Ave, his hand tightly in hers. He was about asking her where they were going, but decided to trust her. 

Paoli was a neat small city, divided into two parts by the Lancaster Avenue. The lanterns were shining brightly, but the streets were empty - it was 9 pm, and most of the shops and cafes were already closed. They've passed the Chestnut road by, on the corner of which there were some trees, which leaves were of a strange colour of vermillion. It took them about seven minutes to get to the bridge across the railroad. On the bridge's left was a railway station and Starbucks. Suddenly he felt an urge to buy a cup of coffee there, in Starbucks, which he's never done before in his home country, but the cafe wasn't his girlfriend's final destination. She waited for the traffic lights to show a white man sign at the crossroad and ran towards the bridge. 

- May be, you're right, - he said, following her across the road. - We'd better left the car and take a train to Harrisburg. - He tried to put enough sarcasm in his words to make her stop, but failed. 

- No, we'd better not, - was her reply. - The tickets there are fuckin' expensive. 

He stopped and watch her getting up the bridge, not even looking at him. Then she also stopped, somewhere in the middle of that part of the bridge he could see and sat down on something concrete, which remind him both railing and a bench. 

He sighed and sat down next to her. 

They were sitting now above all the city, he could see the railway for at least a mile ahead. All the houses and a supermarket Wawa on his left looked small now. In front of them there was a town sleeping under a cloudless sky. He could see the last rays of the sun still coloured the rim of that evening sky yellow and pink. It was peaceful and quiet. 

- Once I called this town "my home", - she whispered. - I've spent three months here, in Paoli, six years ago, with Nathalie. A "Work and Travel" exchange students programme. 

- Yeah, you've already told me that, - he answered, still looking down at the town in front of them. - So, it was here? 

- We were living there, behind the bridge, - her hand was pointing somewhere at her right. - And we were working at Wendy's. It will take us ten minutes to get there on foot. 

He took a steady look at her, noticing a strange glow in her eyes as if she was on the verge of tears. 

- And what were you doing here? - he asked, taking her by the hand. He knew she wouldn't take him here if that place wasn't important to her.

She remained silent for several minutes. 

- We were sitting here with Nathalie, watching sunsets and eating chocolates we've bought in Wawa, talking about everything and dreaming. It's a nice place to spend an evening in case it's not very cold and windy, and you have nothing to do, - she smiled. 

- So, what shall we do now? - inquired he, moving closer to her. 

- You can talk with me about...everything. Whatever you want to. But not about your work, I've heard enough already in the plane, - she added in the end. - Just try to be candid. 

He circled his arms around her and pressed her tight to his body. She smelled somewhat bittersweet, like a berry, which name he couldn't remember. His fingers were playing with her hair for a while, he was thinking about what he was going to say, realising, that he couldn't remember the last time he was allowed to speak openly and be sure he wouldn't be misunderstood. Now, looking down at empty streets, it seemed to him they were alone in the universe... 

- You know what, - he whispered right in her left ear, causing goosebumps on her skin. - I think, we've left the car opened, and I can't stop thinking about it. 

- Oh shut up! - she grumbled, kicking his leg and getting out his arms. - You are not a romantic person, are you?

- Not at all, - he admitted, catching her by a hand and making her sit on his lap. 

- Shame on you, then - she said and smiled, waiting for his reply, but the next words he said, drowned in the noise of an approaching train. 

Buffalo nickel

Dig through your couch cushions, your purse, or the floor
of your car and look at the year printed on the first coin you
find. What were you doing that year?

It's 2014. 

Curiosity killed the cat once, but it still had eight lives remained not to miss a chance of finding out, what was there, in that nice hole in the wall of an old house in the centre of the city. There was nothing curious about that hole from a human's point of view, but that cat needed to find a new shelter for itself, since a pack of stray dogs has chased it out its previous cosy "house", and that hole, which was definately leading somewhere inside the building, was of a great interest and importance. 

It was an early morning, and there was no one in the yard, so the cat felt safe, while it was staring at the hole, trying to find out, where it led or was it big enough for the cat to skin through. The first rays of the sun, piercing through the heavy clouds, were mild, and warm summer breeze promised a little bit hot afternoon, but the cat hardly had time to enjoy such nice weather, which, by the way, was quite rare in that city. It was raining all night long, its fur was still wet and paws were dirty, so it must find another place to hide from the nasty rain and dogs before the evening. And, besides, it was hungry. 

It took the cat almost half an hour to smell the hole and to listen to what was going on inside it, but the animal still hasn't made up its mind about it. There must be basement, as she heard the sound of water stream, running through the pipes. There could be mice and rats also, which was good. But on the other hand, there could be some mouse poison there as well, which wasn't good at all. The cat didn't have an intention to take risks, because the hole still looked somewhat dangerous to it, but its inner curiosity was a way stronger feeling than its self-preservation instinct. The cat was just about getting through the hole, when the metal door behind it opened with a squeaky noise. 

The cat turned its head to the noise as fast as it could. There were two girls on the porch, the first, a taller and redhead one, told something to another girl, who carelessly closed the door behind them and answered to her friend. Both of them were wearing jeans and backpacks. The cat's eyes narrowed as it watched the girls crossing the yard. It was ready to run away in case there would be any danger for it to stay there, but they seemed not to notice the cat at all - the redhead girl was busy putting her sunglasses on, while another one pulled her long black hair away from her face and took some photos of the sky, which now was so cloudless and clear, as if it has never rained before.

"Tourists" - thought the cat, losing all the interest to the girls. When they left the yard, the cat turned back to the hole and dissappered in its darkness. 

The Clock

Write about anything you’d like. 
Somewhere in your post, include the sentence, 
“I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked at the clock.”

Sorry,

but I've fucked up with the rules again,

and I'm not really sorry. 

She heard the car door slam behind her, and immediately looked at her wristwatch, but her mind has failed to register what time it actually was. The thing was that she didn't need to know the exact time as she has never been late in her life, especially when it was about the airports.  

Hardly possible to imagine, but she spent the most part of her life being aware of so many events which were meant to happen and they did happen sooner or later, though her name wasn't Cassandra, she has never touched a single book about witchcraft and wore a sceptical smile, when people around were talking about "the sixth sense". It was the way she was born, and such a thing as a wristwatch was completely useless for her from a practical point of view. Why should she bother about time, when she could see the future for so many miles ahead? 

But she kept wearing it, so it was a gift, one of the most precious things she'd ever gotten.

It's always amazed her in a way, how people could give a completely meaningless thing "a meaning" and keep that thing safe and close to the heart no matter what it really was - a cinema ticket, a nice seashell found at the beach or a dead flower, hidden in between the pages of a favourite book. And she also had a nice collection of useless precious rubbish of her own, but her wristwatch was a way more special. 

Firstly, it was a gift from her closest friend, who now was so far away from her, and having that thing on her wrist made the almost physical pain of missing a little bit easier. Then, she was always wearing something at her wrists or fingers to keep her eyes on it, when she felt nervous, and that black leather bracelet fitted that purpose perfectly. And the last and most peculiar thing about this wristwatch was it's role of a reminder, that time was never late as well and all the events which happen in our lives keep tending to happen at an exact time. 

That was the thought which was echoing inside her head all the time her taxi was driving to the airport, as she was going to leave the country for her best friend's wedding - another marker on the map of her life she has been aware of for so many years already. But forseeing the future doesn't mean pure awareness of how to react on or feel the right way about that future. And her-own-self tragedy was  her "never been feeling right" about a single situation. An emotional cripple she was. 

Even now, standing at the airport and looking at the sky of such a perfect shade of blue it could make her cry, she, who was just about to get on a plane, come to another country and meet her dearest friend who was going to get married and live happily ever after, smiled of course, smiled that kind of a genuine hollywood smile, beaming like mid-summer sinshine. But, alongside that feeling of teenage reckless happiness she got a feeling of another kind - a miserable taste of self-pitty at her tongue, as she felt awfully alone. And that, she thought, was not right at all. 

... She looked at her wristwatch again, trying to concentrate on the exact time now. It was 7.15 am and she still had plenty of time for a cup of black tea, sorting her emotional mish mash out and signing a wedding card for her friend. There was still time for her to be the happiest person ever in the whole world one day, because time, a heartless bitch though, has never failed anything, and that was the one and only thing she has surely believed in through all of her life. 

Undo

If you could un-invent "un-event", undo something, what would it be? 
Discuss why, potential repercussions, or a possible alternative.


Then, out of the blue, came silence.

Her eyes, full of tears, were staring at the yellowish ceiling of the small room with a big window and wooden floor of a nasty brown colour. Hands were shaking, head was aching and heavy, she kept biting her lower lip, trying to calm down the anger burning inside her.

She was almost 14, redhead and straight-out,
smart enough to keep people away from her true-gentle-self and play a role of a nasty cynical girl, who wasn't afraid of anything or anyone, except snakes.

But now she was scared.
Five peaceful years had passed, and today every single childish nightmare has come back to drown her in fear and helplessness again.

And she hated it.

It was easier to survive through all of those evenings and nights, when she was a five-year-old, cause a child has a perfect ability to forget and forgive easily as if summer rain has washed away all the blood and tears from her pillow.

She slightly touched the back of her head - the thin scar she's got, when she was 5, was still there to remind her of one of the worst nights of her childhood.

Now, being older and seeing things sharper, she knew, she would never forgive him again, if she got another bruise or scar or, even worse, another nightmare to live with through all of her life.

But she hated herself even more, because she was the one and only reason of it.

If it wasn't her, she, a person whom this redhead girl loved most of all, could leave him, come back to her parents and start a new life, which could be so much happier than living in a small rainy town away from her mother and father, locked in a room with him and a hostile daughter.
If it wasn't her, he could do whatever he want to, but not ruin her mother's life.

She knew, what she had to do.

A knife, heavy and sharp, was cold and somehow soothing in her hand.
She cut a lock of her red hair out, checking, how sharp was a knife, and, satisfied with result, looked at her left wrist. Her skin, dead-pale, revealed a nice net of blue veins. She closed her eyes and heard the beating of her own heart in that creepy silence of the room.

...she was standing at the balcony, a cold knife still in her hand, watching the rays of September sun piercing through the heavy grayish clouds and tangling with her long red hair, making them shine like burning fire.

She was almost 14, redhead and straight-out,
smart enough to understand that life is the one and precious and beautiful no matter how hard it can be sometimes. If she did this to herself, she would never undo this. And that feeling was the most scariest of all she's ever experienced.

  

Clean slate

Explore the room you’re in as if you’re seeing it for the first
time. Pretend you know nothing. What do you see? Who is
the person who lives there?

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. 

Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, 

nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: 

it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.

(c) J.R.R. Tolkien

Comfort.

That word came to my mind when I entered the room for the first time -  a room so light and big, it seems to me it's just too spacious for one girl. 

- A Girl? 

Yeah, a girl. Firstly, only a girl would choose creamy-lime wallpapers for her room. It's not a boyish colour, indeed. Then, there is an army of teddy bears and porcelain dolls here waiting for her. And you can see her in the photos.

Photos.

They are everywhere, so bright and colourful and ... "unprofessional".  

Roses, a perfectly blue sky with sheep-like clouds, a stubborn cat, a sunny beach, American and German flags, waving in the air breeze, and smiling happy faces of her and her nearest and dearest... all these pictures remind me of a jam jar closed tight to keep it fresh, because memories, even the brightest and the most precious ones are sooner or later forgotten. 

What else is there? 

All pieces of furniture - a desk with a cupboard above it, a mirror, a chest of drawers and a tall wardrobe in the corner - match each other perfectly...so perfectly it makes me feel sick. I mean, it could be such a boring choice of furniture if there wasn't a massive round-shaped armchair in front of the desk instead of an ordinary chair. A nice and comfortable sofa next to the wall, with piles of lime cushions of a different size on it, makes it cosy as well. 

But what really catches my attention is a windowsill with four amazingly huge orchids there.

It's winter in Russia, and you can see nothing but snow out of the window, it's so freaking cold you want  to never come out of that room with a cosy armchair... But the orchids, those delicate flowers which supposed to be lithe and weak, are strong and tall, as if spring has come to this room a little bit earlier. 

I can't say much of this girl right now, neither her exact age nor what she's dreaming about in the middle of the night sitting in her comfortable armchair with a purple mug full of tea (I've seen one on the desk), but there's one thing I'm sure about - 

a girl with such orchids can't be a really bad person.