Sketching, Writing 101

The Elevator

I pressed the elevator button and stared at the numbers changing one another and telling me that it was going down.

“What if it fell?” I thought. “Would everybody die?” I shook my head. “Strange thoughts flash through my mind sometimes.”

The elevator door opened and I came in. Some seconds later I stepped out at my floor and stumbled on a small group of people clustered next to my neighbor’s apartment. The door was open, and a 4-year-old girl was crying in the arms of an old lady.

“It’s ok. Everything will be fine.” The old lady was stroking the girl’s hair and looking at a man with a bag full of groceries, obviously her husband.

“She fell on the floor, unconscious,” a woman in green sweats said to me. “Her daughter couldn’t open the door, so they broke it.”

“What? Who ‘they’? Who broke the door?” I asked.

“She worked too hard after her husband left her, that’s why the stroke.”

Two paramedics went out of the apartment pushing a stretcher covered with the white sheet. “They broke the door!” I finally got it. We all watched the paramedics and the stretcher disappear in the elevator.

“He left her for another woman. He went back to Turkey,“ the woman in sweatpants was talking again.

“How do you know all that?” I asked her. “She barely speaks English. Oh, spoke, I guess.”

“Anny from the second floor told me.”

“Who is Anny? And how does she know?”

“Everybody knows her husband went back to Turkey. And now she’s dead.”

“What about the girl? What will happen to her?”

“The social worker is on the way,” the old lady said. “The paramedics made a call. We just have to wait for a while”. She sighed. “There’s nothing left to do.”

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