The visitor picked up her boots and stood quietly in the middle of the room for a while. She stayed still and listened in the darkness; the sounds of escort made as he slept were like the click of a properly working machine. In this pitch-black night where the moon and stars were not visible, the sleeping man's two steps away breathing was the only sensation that stimulated the girl's senses.
His motionless silhouette on the chair was so faint. It was as if he had been drawn lazily with a grey pencil on black paper by a talentless artist.
Instead of walking towards the door, with an impulse, she headed towards where the man, slowly, very slowly. She stopped, the kind man with an ugly face was right in front of her.
She bent down and came closer to the man's face that had fallen on his chest. She turned her ear to his lips and listened. It was the voice of a living person. The air that enters through the nose and travels in the lungs, runs the whole body and then leaves—warmth radiating from a person's body.
Their faces would almost touch each other where she leaned over. If the sleeping man had moved a little, she would have been caught.
Warmth, she thought to herself. What a precious thing warmth is, indeed. She straightened up again, walked slowly, proceeding to the door without making a sound. When she turned the handle slowly, a little noise clicked. It was locked. Somewhere in her body, her breath stuck in a flash like she was drowning.
She touched over the lock with her fingers. A small thin metal key is needed. She returned nearly without moving her body, the man still asleep. His breathing had not changed.
She waited without moving, making a sound, not taking her hand from the handle. She went through the street numbers ten times. She hadn't even seen the escort lock the door. Grinned, thinking of the cowboy in the comic book he had recently found and read. Who would have thought captain scar-face is the man who shoots faster than his shadow? She admired his quickness. Still, if that was the case, she felt the key was not in an unlikely place because she also had not seen him hiding something somewhere. He just sat down as he came in. She quickly thought that the key was still on him.
She walked softly with his bare feet and returned to the sleeping man. Her mind was empty, her movements surprisingly calm, her pulse slow. She moved closer to the silent silhouette. She touched the edge of the table with her right hand, then run it with her fingertips until she found his legs thrown on the table.
She calmly ran her hand over the man's trousers as if she was holding a bubble on the tip of his finger without bursting it. She found his pocket. It seemed to have something small metal inside. She pushed her fingers slowly inside, grabbed the tip of the key with her index and middle finger when the fingertips touched the small object, and took it out with the same care that a surgeon had removed the tumor.
The escort was still asleep.
She had the key.
Without a sound, she walked towards the door again.
She put the key in the lock without making a sound.
Turned it inside the lock.
As soon as she turned in the lock, the door opened automatically.
The visitor crept out, closed the door behind her.
She took a deep breath and sat on the threshold, things were fine for now. She looked up. There was a reddish fog in the air because of the thick clouds in the sky. Her eyes were also accustomed to the darkness, she could more or less see things. She tucked her boots into her pockets and started walking barefoot, she couldn't afford to make a noise.
YOU ARE READING
The Gravity Doesn't Hold Us Anymore l ONC 2021
General Fiction*Post-Modern Literature *Mature (Not Pornographic) ------------------- Forty-two years have passed since the downfall of civilization began. Now there is nothing left in the world. Well, almost nothing. The walkers who take care of themselves on the...
