A glimpse at the moon

-CHAPTER 1-

Her voice was nauseating. 

The tedious droning rang against my ears, her face seeming extremely  punchable. Donna's features were scrunched in bitter reluctance, the gum in her mouth smacking against her tongue. I grimised at her tendency, blocking out her incessant  chatter by staring her deep in the eyes, hoping she'd find discomfort in my glare.

" You've got a tour in 10 minutes" she announced, her eyebrows lifting slightly in aggravation "-so you better get down there if you want to keep your job".

I rolled my eyes against her empty threats, watching as the woman wrapped a thin box-dyed piece of hair around her pudgy finger, awaiting my standard response.

"I will" I state plainly, entirely fatigued by her non-stop gossip. She shakes her head in displeasure, snarling at me cruelly before twisting away from me. I take note as she sauntered away from me, swaying her hips in search of a new victim to torture verbally. Recovering from the slight earache the unbearable woman had burdened me with, I lug my weight away from the check in desks, taking note of each laptop, counting them as I pass. My lanyard sways across my chest, a tedious pattern of gentle chimes matching my pace in steps. I knew the journey like the back of my hand: two doors down, up the corridor and down the two flights of stairs leading to the giftshop, sign in and entrance. The second door passes me as I trail the familiar path, my eyes meeting the narrow corridor just by the corner of the wooden frames. As I adjust myself to the narrow corridor, I find myself beginning to sway - the freedom of silence, the open space filling me with contentment. I run my skeletal fingers down the wall as I glide from one side of the alley to another, trying to keep from Donna's demands as much as possible. As I reach the midpoint of the corridor, my fingers are yanked from the plaster, a sharp stabbing pain creating a port on my hip. My hands clasp around my side, my palms contracting in an attempt to ease the pressure. I inhale stale air, my breath like shallow water. As I reached the ground, my knees slamming against the harsh laminate floor, a flustered voice echoed through the hall.

"oh- bollocks'. Though in tremendous pain, I couldn't help but slightly chuckle at the man's poor word choice. My laughter came as somewhat of a wheeze, indicating the pain hadn't eased. I listened intently to the shuddered footsteps that were travelling closer, their pattern with no particular rhyme. The steps met my side, a slight brush of wind caressed my arm, items of clothing rustling against each other as the figure adjusts itself. I open my eyes slowly, my eyesight dancing against the harsh light before turning to the clothed knee beside me. I began to examine the overwhelmed apparition: His clothing tattered, simple pale-washed jeans and a button up shirt, all pulled together by an oversized lengthy denim jacket. His face seemed flushed, his complexion dark -seemingly tanned- with dark ovals beneath his almond eyes. The man's hair fell perfectly, an abundance of charcoal curls sat firmly across the right side of his face. It shaped him nicely. My body shrugged against the harsh scraping as I lifted my leg in determination to remove myself from the floor. As I crouch away from the floor, the man's toned arms stretch closer to me in an attempt to ease my balance.

"don't" I hiss, the pain causing unattractive vexation, a mixture of confusion and discomfort worming its way out of my mouth. I manage to reach my feet, parting my stance to the laminate wood to find stable footing before thrusting my head upward, glaring menacingly at the torturous instrument that sliced my hip. A gift cart. A contradictory smile grew against my cheeks as I glared at the plastic trolley, its contents now coating the floor. The culprit had now reached his feet, his palms face upward in panic of my collapse. I glanced at the startled man, his eyebrows furrowed intensely.

"God I'm so sorry! I'm such a knob - I should've been watching where the stupid trolly was-" His voice trailed as he continues to apologize, his voice wavered in complete anxiety. I raise my palm toward him, lowering it gently and repeating the action.

"relax" I mutter, the pain at my side slightly easing "it's fine, really". My smile seemed to calm his nerves, his

chatter slowing. My knees buckle as I slowly lower myself to the floor, eying a small jewellery packet beneath the sole of my heel. I cup the plastic in my palm, rising once more and placing it gently in the plastic cart.

"oh no you really don't have to do that" the man objected, his stance still rigid with uncertainty. I scoff at his interjection, picking up a few more small bits of plastic while chuckling to myself. The man stands alongside me, picking up other random things such as strange hippopotamus teddies and strange jelly sweets. The gift shop had always seemed dodgy.

Minutes passed, and though not awkward, silence followed. His company wasn't unbearable like most human interactions in this hell hole of a museum - his presence was in my ideology 'we both hate this place'.

Once the floor was visible again, I glared back at the man who was now brushing his jeans from invisible dust. I lift my arm towards my chin, glancing down at my dainty watch. It had been a gift from my sister on my 20th birthday, her excuse for 'making it up to me'.

The watch read -11:27-

"Hey I gotta run," I informed the man. ushering my thumb towards the door. As I sauntered only a few paces from my original standing point, the man's voice echoed across the corridor.

"I didn't get your name" His British accent was quite strong, a sweet melody that rang through my ears momentarily. I turn my attention to the man once more, shuffling slightly in nerves. I expressed my identity, his face lightning gently as I spoke. "-and yours?"

The man raised his fingers to his chest, his index finger slowly tapping against a small token on his breast pocket.

"Steven" He beamed, glaring back at me "with a V"

I watch his eyebrows furrow slightly, his smile fading with increasing tension. I nodded affirmatively, glad to put a name to my face. I wave calmly at Steven, his face scrunched into another beam.

He looks like a 'Steven'.

-1136 words-
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