Questions

Midnight. A strange time to be strolling down a dark alley, yet, surprisingly, she was there. Streetlamps lighting her way—a quickened pace—a quiet whisper of a voice. Lights beckoning to her, she strode powerfully down the seemingly endless—like the city?—corridor of the road. And then, bursting into a crowded square, smells assaulted her. Mint? Thyme? She longed for the serene atmosphere of the day, but no more. The night loomed ahead of her—taunting and smug—people stared as she stood there, unmoving. “Hey watch it lady!” What am I doing here? I don’t belong.
“Are you here for—“ “Yes,” she replied coolly, with a competence matched by not one of the bustling persons she found herself among. Marching onward through—wishing, not allowing herself to hope—the crowd. Three blocks. “Is this…?” “Yes,” her guide said coolly. Throwing open the doors, he vanished.
“Who are you?” said the man that just appeared on a lofty staircase, “Why are you here?” “I think you know very well why I am here,” she said firmly. With no doubt to be found in her tone, the man walked down the stairs. “How did you find me? You will get no answers tonight,” he hissed. Why does he deny—what does he know? He escorted her out of the entry and up the stairs. “You should know I can’t promise you—“ “You should know I will leave tonight with the answers I want, the answers I need,” she vowed—he did not need to know she was unsure of herself. A good actress, with a presence. Up the stairs.
A tall vase flashed past her eyes—murky with mystery. A shadow flitted through the doorway, amused—dancing past her. A long night stood before her, but she had the power. A window crashed, a fire started, the vase shattered. The steps down the staircase, the street wide before her—Could it be true?—streetlamps laughing wickedly. Leaving a trail of shadows in his wake. Gone. Walking—confused—back to the alley, back to the beginning—no answers.





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