She stepped into the elevator, breathless and slammed her finger against the button. Willing the doors to close, she muttered, “Come on, hurry up,” a couple of times.
I looked over at her as we waited: the beads of sweat on her brow; the way her hands were trembling; the tightness in her jaw. I could smell the agitation. Then I looked back at her hands. They had smears of blood, like they had been wiped clean.
Was she the victim or perpetrator? I could see many things in her countenance but no signs of fear. I knew the answer.
I stretched my leg out as the doors were about to close, holding them open which ignited fear in her eyes. She turned around to look at me. I stared back, refusing to be intimidated.
She lunged forward, ready to make her escape when two burly security guards apprehended her just inches from the doors.
As they pulled her away, she looked back at me, wondering how her great escape could have been ruined by a cat.
About the Creator
Lacey Dearie
Indie author 📚 Blogger 💻 Humanities student 👩🏻🎓 Editor of the 27th best blog in Scotland apparently 🏆 Unapologetic daydreamer 😑 Natural introvert/selective extrovert 💃🏻 Member of the Cat Writers Association 🐈⬛
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Comments (2)
LOL brilliant!
haha...this is awesome Lacey. Damn cat. Love the intrigue and mystery you guilt up with it though. Stellar work!