Jose Alberto Orive
Stories (1/0)
Steel Mountains
The elevator always takes ages, yet he knows that the stairs would be the death of him at this point. Knees about to give out, still dripping sweat. Ramon rarely shares the lift with anyone else, except for the regulars: a late-night errand, a drunk, a red-eye flight back to the metropolis. It always feels cramped, even when he is alone. He knows which floor to press by memory, not by understanding the icons. It has been this way since day one, though. His floor is thousands of stories higher than he ever was back home, yet it is nowhere near the penthouse. Ramon delicately turns the knob and slowly enters his apartment. In the dark, he feels his way towards a light switch. The light-blue lamp doesn’t illuminate the whole room but gives him enough to do what he needs to do. Two slow fingers turn the sink on and he forces the grease to leave his hands. Tired eyes look into the refrigerator and reach for a Tupperware. As soon as he turns on the microwave, he looks around, making sure the sounds didn’t cause any commotion.
By Jose Alberto Orive3 years ago in Futurism