The Stairwell
By aurorelenoir
Wed, 15 Sep 2004
- 411 reads
style="LINE-HEIGHT: 200%; TEXT-ALIGN: center"
align="center">
The
Stairwell
Marie-Belle Dupont, a young woman of
twenty-four, races up the dark stairwell of an even darker apartment
building. She
can barely stand, much less run, her legs weak with hunger and
stress.
Suddenly, her toe catches on a crack in the stair,
bringing her painfully down to her knees on the rough concrete.
style="mso-spacerun: yes"> The scrapes on her
hands and legs sting, so she sits to help ease that pain, crossing her
arms across her chest for a little bit of warmth.
style="mso-spacerun: yes"> She can go
no further.
She blinks back tears as she wonders if she
will be there for the rest of her life, or if there is even any other
place for her to be.
were both paneled in a wood so dirty that it was as dark as ebony, so
dark that it seemed like a black hole. There was but one break in that melancholy
monotony: the
faded, floral wallpaper that still clung in shreds to the upper half of
the walls. At
one time, this paper must have been a lively burst of color, with
cabbage roses, lilies and poppies, all at their peak. style="mso-spacerun: yes"> But that would have
been long ago, long before Marie-Belle's time, and now they were so
faded as to be nearly invisible against the grimy beige
background. A
window at the top of the stairs, blocked by the black film of neglect,
filtered miniscule light onto parts of the tattered paper, allowing
just a bit of color to appear, like the fleeting flash of light from a
dying bulb.
The whole wall needed to be re-papered, but in this
squalor, who cared enough to do it? Who even noticed? style="mso-spacerun: yes"> In this building,
filled with drug addicts, convicts, and single mothers who were working
three jobs, who was there to fix the walls, or anything else for that
matter? style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 200%">Marie-Belle peeled off
a small strip of paper and held it in her hands, studying it like it
was a picture of her mother. The place where that paper had been was
still painted a deep sage green, a gorgeous color that she couldn't
figure out why someone had covered up. Nearly without thinking, she wet her finger
and drew a dot with it in the grime on the wall, revealing a deep
reddish wood beneath, long hidden away from view. style="mso-spacerun: yes"> She rubbed the wall a
bit more, revealing more wood. Carved faintly in it was a heart with the
initials SF and RB.
Some lovers years ago had left their mark, only to be
covered up by the ugliness of neglect. She could only wonder what had come of
them, and if they would still draw a heart around their
initials.ss style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 200%"> style="mso-spacerun: yes"> Marie-Belle had always
been well-known around here, for many undesirable things, and that was
all anybody ever saw when they looked at her. style="mso-spacerun: yes"> Very few had ever
considered that she might be more than what they had heard or seen, or
that perhaps she might actually be a worthwhile person hiding beneath
the mask of an infamous criminal. She was a hypocrite, of course, having only
looked at the surface of the walls, but what of it? style="mso-spacerun: yes"> That's what everybody
else did, no matter what they were looking at. style="mso-spacerun: yes"> But that was what
Marie-Belle hated about all of them, and she was guilty of it. style="mso-spacerun: yes"> Disgusted with
herself, she stood up abruptly, having forgotten her weakness, and
turned around to leave, forgetting why she had come there. style="mso-spacerun: yes"> She dropped the
wallpaper on the floor and started to step down the stairs toward the
door at the bottom, one stair, then another, not thinking. style="mso-spacerun: yes">
style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 200%">She was perfectly
avoiding it all, leaving the hallway behind, leaving the building to go
pick up another job, until she remembered why she had come
here. She
paused, thinking, then turned around and headed back up the stairs,
past the crack that she had tripped on and past the shred of paper, up
to the top landing and another long, straight hallway, which she walked
down as fierce as a wildcat. She stopped and knocked on a door. style="mso-spacerun: yes"> A man answered and
said style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 200%">"Glad you made it," he
said to her with a madman's grin. class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 200%">"Can
I borrow something?" Marie-Belle asked him. style="mso-spacerun: yes"> Without waiting for an
answer, she pushed past to gather a bucket of water and a towel, then
rushed back out into the hall and down the stairs. style="mso-spacerun: yes"> She started scrubbing
the walls and peeling off the paper, randomly, blindly doing what she
knew she had to.
The man had followed her and now stood against the
opposite wall, arms crossed, looking at her mockingly as she
cleaned.
style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 200%">"Your spontaneity is a
good thing, my fawn.
We'll work well together. Now, let's go upstairs and go over a couple
of details, give you the file,
perhaps?" style="TEXT-INDENT: 0.5in; LINE-HEIGHT: 200%">"No, no, let's not do
that. I'm out,
and don't bother calling ever again." She stood, leaving the bucket and
towel on the step.
The wood shined, the sage green greeted people merrily as
they entered, and that man never again called Marie-Belle to do his
dirty work. No
one else did, either.
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