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NC - Effort (standard:romance, 797 words)
Author: Freya GriffinAdded: Jun 25 2004Views/Reads: 1998/0Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
What makes her get up off bed every morning
 



The east side of the room consisted of a huge window and the bed was
positioned right by it. The purpose was so when the sun rises, the 
first thing caressed by the soft morning sunrays is the naked skin 
exposed as the blanket being gone, tossed aside. So when she waked up, 
the first thing she would see is the colors outside awaken from the 
cold grey of the night. So this new life spirit infused her with energy 
to jump out of the bed, from the sleepiness that bound her eyes shut 
tight, and her locked limbs. 

The problem is whenever she opened her eyes, there's always a reason
that makes her wants to be inside her room forever, all day, just 
cuddled up in the bed or in the couch beside the dressing table, in the 
corner where the light only left a trace of its existence. 

It was raining outside that day. 

Outside her window, the colors froze into a chilling grey. Lines blurred
by the semi-transparent curtain formed by the water droplets, adding 
the illusion of exhaustion and laziness of a somber world. But this 
morning, like the morning before and the next, she has to get up of bed 
and get out of her room. 

Thanks to technological advances, hot water is always available whenever
the faucet is turned. Taking her long hot shower she figured out 
something she didn't understand, why would she takes a hot shower when 
in 15 minutes after she's all dried up and clothed, she'd be out under 
the rain to get wet and cold again. 

No breakfast because her fridge is empty. 

A traditional black umbrella, raincoat, and boots, she went out to face
the by passer spurting water and mud in every water pool formed at the 
side of the streets. There are three crossroads she had to cross before 
she got to the place she had in mind. Unconsciously she creates a map 
of the streets, counted and marked her progress towards the place and 
always smiles to see the last crossroad not far ahead. 

The building was white with big glass windows. Slender shining chromed
lights hung orderly across the ceiling. Movable partitions arranged as 
walls with asymmetrical corners and curves separating pathways was 
filling up two third of the first floor. The rest of it was filled with 
chairs and a reception desk. Behind this room a spacious office and on 
the second and third floor, a studio loft spaced into 5 rooms for each 
resident artists. 

She knows. She's been in there.. 

The glass door elegantly decorated with a logo engraved in gold,
picturing a badger carrying an opened umbrella. The Badger Gallery and 
Studio. 

She stepped in after making an effort to dry herself as much as she
could. The girl behind the receptionist desk lifted her head upon the 
entrance, nodding and smiled adequately. She lifted a palm to greet the 
receptionist. 

She wasted no time to go where she wanted to. The third row it was. A
monochrome photograph, a silhouette of a man standing by a huge window 
against the sunlight. “Self Portrait”. Made by Jack Ribbon. 

Somebody came through the door. A friendly masculine voice greeted the
receptionist girl. Asking about news and trading information about the 
bad weather outside. 

She walked slowly, not making a sound, to the end of the third row.
Stretching her neck cautiously behind the partition wall to see. 

The man striped himself off his raincoat and put his umbrella in the
umbrella stand. He was wearing an old green army sweater, the color 
faded on the collar. As usual his hair was a mess. He carried a black 
plastic bag, wet by the rain. His backpack was in it. 

As he waited for the elevator he turned his head around, browsing
through the room. She quickly hid herself. Her heart beating violently. 
It didn't make any sense but she held her breath too. She could hear 
him apologized to the receptionist girl about the wet patched he made 
on the floor. 

As soon as the “ping” of the elevator door is heard, she made a swift
move towards the entrance door. At the umbrella stand she halted for a 
while, hesitating to grab her own umbrella. Her hand brushed against 
the handle of his umbrella as she took hers and made it outside the 
building with a big grin on her face. 

The man was Jack Ribbon. For three months he would be working and
exhibiting with the Badger. 

For a month, every morning before she started her day, she came to the
Badger to see Jack Ribbon arrived through the entrance door, greeted 
the receptionist, and entered the elevator to go to his studio on the 
third floor.


   


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