Creative Writing discussion

The elevator doors jerked open with a rattle and a creak, and Petra stepped wearily inside. The elevators in the Pullman Avenue Apartments were the slowest she’d ever encountered. Normally she didn’t bother with them, but she was just too tired to face the stairs today.

She hit the button with the half-worn-off 3 on it, then backed up and leaned against the far wall of the elevator. Her eyes drifted closed for a moment, and her head drooped. When she opened them again, her gaze rested blankly on the fake wood paneling of the elevator floor. Then they started to focus.

Something had been spilled on the floor - not unheard of in this building of course, but there was something about the color of the spill that caught Petra’s attention. She looked closer. The spot was small, just a single drop, half the size of a dime, with two other specks lying above and to the right. It was blood.

Petra went back to her spot against the wall of the elevator, bracing herself against the shallow metal railing that had been hung there. For a few seconds she was unmoved. Then, slowly, she began to become concerned.

The elevator made a dinging sound to indicate that it had passed the second floor and was on the way to the third. The gears of the mechanism were grinding in the background, and Petra’s pulse started to pick up. There was no reason to be afraid, she knew this - there was no threat in the elevator with her. But there was no reason, no safe reason, for there to be blood on the elevator floor either.

The elevator dinged again, signaling that the third floor had been reached. Petra knew that it would be at least another fifteen seconds before the doors would finally start to open, but she moved towards them anyway, anxious to be gone. She gave the droplets another glance, then looked away quickly, staring at her mottled reflection in the elevator’s old brass doors instead.

The doors finally creaked open, splitting her reflection, and Petra pushed through them almost before there was enough room to do so. She adjusted the strap of her bag where it hung on her shoulder, then began moving down the dimly-lit hallway. With each step she took, she felt a little bit safer, but also with each step she moved a little bit faster. She didn’t want anything to do with what she’d seen in the elevator - she just wanted to be gone, to be home, with her apartment door securely locked and bolted and chained behind her.

She was moving swiftly down the hallway, not quite running but definitely not just walking either, when a door was flung open and a man appeared in the hallway. Petra, whose eyes had been on her feet, nearly ran into him, but recoiled in time.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, reeling back and looking up into his scruffy-looking face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t - I didn’t see you there,” she said. As she spoke, her gaze drifted from his face down to the bulky garbage bag on the floor next to him. The faded fluorescent light barely illuminated the hallway, but it seemed to reflect almost brightly off the shiny black plastic of the garbage bag. “I’m sorry,” she repeated faintly, taking a step backwards.

The man’s eyes had been narrowed on her since their near-collision, and now she saw him look sharply past her towards the elevators. She heard a dull dinging sound, and knew without turning around that the elevator doors had just finished closing. In that moment, she was certain that she saw his face darken, and panic welled up within her.

Just then, the air was shattered by a high-pitched mechanical wailing. Petra covered her ears, and within moments doors were opening up and down the hallway, as people began to respond to the fire alarm. The man with the garbage bag reached towards her, but Petra evaded him and slipped quickly away.

She rushed down the hallway, not caring who she jostled in her attempt to put distance between herself and the guy she’d run into. She joined the general exodus that was heading down the stairs and out the big glass doors that led to the shabby courtyard out front. Once she was outside, she told herself, she could mingle with the crowd and stay out of sight. She just had to make it outside.

Life had treated him poorly. His wife passed away a year ago to the day and he was treating his sorrow with his usual low spirits. Gavin had the bottle in his right hand laying almost lifeless over the edge of the tattered recliner that he spent most of his nights in.

He lifted the bottle to his mouth to take a swig while he heard lite footsteps coming down the hall. He put the bottle off to the side of the recliner as quick as he could in hopes that it would not be seen.

“Daddy?” Came from a soft voice that was more timid that questioning. “Are you going to tuck me in tonight?”

Gavin pushed aside his hair out of his face and then slammed the footrest back into the recliner causing the alcohol to be knocked over in the process. Swearing under his breath, he looked up to his eight year old daughter who was looking directly at the liquids flowing slowly from the bottle. She took a step back.

“Lana, I-“ Gavin started.

The few seconds of hurt that he saw in her eyes was jeered away as she quickly shut her eyes and turned her head away from him as soon as she heard his voice.

“You said you wouldn’t anymore.” Lana stated.

Gavin swiftly picked up the bottle even though the drink has stopped pouring from it. He walked over to Lana and got on a knee, then took both of her arms in his hands.

“Lana, Lana honey, listen to me.” He started as she turned back to look at him.

Her eyes passively pierced though his heart. While her sad gaze meant no harm, Gavin couldn’t see past something that he longed for everyday. His daughter wore his past wife’s eyes. Lana’s faded blue eyes were the only things that kept reminding him of what he once had. It was something that he couldn’t let go.

In the silence that lasted for what seemed centuries his eyes started to water.

“What’s the matter, daddy?” Lana asked.

“Daddy is just-,” he fumbled over his words from the frog in his throat and having to wipe his eyes with the sleeve of his white coat, “just, happy because of how beautiful you are. Now I’ll tuck you in.”

He stood up and patted her shoulder as she started to walk down the hall to her room. His buzz pulsed through his heads in rapid spurts every time he took a step. Lana slowly walked down to the hall as Gavin staggered right behind her. They finally reached the entryway and as they entered the room the nightlight that was plugged in by the door burned out.

“Daddy! My nightlight, can you fix it?” Lana asked.

“I-, I can tomorrow.” He said not wanting to disappoint her.

He knew that he would have to go the store soon anyway; the last of his drinks had spilled on the floor.

Lana hopped into bed and Gavin sat next to her as she laid down. He then pulled the covers up to her chin and kissed her on the forehead.

“Goodnight my princess.” He said in a low gruff voice as he walked away to leave.

“Daddy?” Came the same timid voice from Lana.

Gavin was by the door and had his fingers on the light switch getting ready to flick it off. But he stopped and looked over his should at the tone of her voice.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He choked out.

“Can you pray with me?” Lana asked.

Taken aback from the question, Gavin turned his head away from her and looked down at his feet. She had never asked him to do this in the entire year that he had tucked her in by himself. He had to search his mind for the right words to say.

“Daddy doesn’t do that anymore,” he answered blankly.

“But mommy always used to.” Lana said back.

Gavin flicked off the light and turned to walk away.

“I’m not your mother… She’s gone.” He said as he left the doorway and walked slowly down the hall and to his chair.

He picked up the bottle and swirled around that last bit of liquid that remained at the bottom. He threw it back and dropped the bottle back to the floor.

Without any other action he stated walking to the entry of his apartment. Room 406 was labeled above the door from the inside as if people were to forget where they live. He opened the door and walked into the hall without closing the door behind him.

Walking straight to the wall in front of him, he leaned his head against the bumpy textured pattern. He placed his hand on the small box and pulled the lever down. The alarm blared throughout the entire building and began chaos for everyone except him.

If clarity was his chaos, maybe chaos would be his clarity.

Please…help me….please

BANG

Gwen jolted awake, her heart pounding as she wildly looked around the room to get her bearings. The cold cellar from her dream slowly melted away to reveal the familiar sight of her small apartment. She was on the old couch, tangled in blankets and books where she had crashed earlier that day. She rubbed her eyes wearily as she forced her breathing to even, wondering if the dream would ever fade with time.

She doubted it.

With a sigh she glanced out the window, pulling the dark drapes back to reveal the twilight sky edged with cityscape, the sun barely visible above the horizon before it faded away. She watched the dark city as if she was searching for everything and yet nothing. She traced the outlines of buildings with her finger on the glass, staring into the alleyways as if she knew their deepest secrets.

So caught up in her study of the dark buildings she almost didn’t respond to the blaring siren of the fire alarm. Reluctantly she pulled herself from the window and cracked open her door, peeking out at the panicked tenants rushing from their rooms and towards the stairs. She smiled ever so slightly, a condescending smirk before she retreated back to her room. Within seconds she had a packed bag in her hand, pulled from the closet next to the front door, and was stuffing more items into it as she systematically went from the living room to her bedroom. With the last few essentials zipped up she opened the window next to her bed and stepped out onto the rickety fire escape. The tenants has long ago been told to never use the crisscross network of metal ladders and stairs, one feature of the old apartment building that had been scheduled to be repaired but was never accomplished. With the bag slung over her back Gwen made her way down the thirteen stories of dangerous metal, keeping close to the building as she followed her memorized safe path down. But on the third floor she paused, something catching her eye. There was a man, disheveled and unkempt, pacing his apartment with the door wide open. No one passed outside, the rest of the floor must have been cleared by now. And yet he paced, muttering and glancing at a shiny black trash bag sitting by the door. Gwen leaned in for a closer look, because it almost seemed like the trash bag had moved.

Unfortunately her shift in weight did not settle well on the old fire escape. When she heard the groan of twisted metal she hurried on down the rest of the way, being extra cautious of her footing. When she finally jumped off to land softly in the gravel below she glanced upwards as if she could still see inside the window. “Creeper,” she murmured, shaking her head before she straightened and headed to the edge of the courtyard where the rest of the tenants were gathering.

Petra fidgeted in her hiding spot, the rough brick of the stone wall catching against the fabric of her coat as she moved. She started to count to ten, but only made it to six before she peeked around the corner of the building again.

He was still there, staring hard at the other residents as they filed back inside. Petra swore softly under her breath and bit her lip, not knowing what to do. She needed some kind of distraction, some kind of divine intervention to buy her a few seconds - just long enough to let her get inside and lock herself away in her apartment, that's all she needed. Was that so much to ask?

It must not have been, because just at that moment he glanced away. Petra's gaze sharpened, and her breath caught in her throat. He wasn't looking her way - he wasn't even looking at the door. Whatever he'd spotted seemed to have thoroughly caught his attention, and as Petra watched he smiled widely and started moving away from the building.

Never had an opportunity been so clear. Before she had even finished the thought, Petra was already halfway across the courtyard, and heading towards the door. Then she did something stupid.

The door was there, unguarded and unwatched, and it practically beckoned to her with its run-down, unwelcoming-but-familiar presence. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to take advantage of the man's distraction to slip inside and hide herself away. But she didn't. Instead, giving in to an impulse that was as sudden as it was foolish, she slipped past the door and around the far corner, heading into the alley.

Sending a nervous glance over her shoulder, Petra had to wonder if she were insane to be doing this. No one was following her, and she turned back to the alley. The dumpsters were ahead of her, and she moved quickly down the narrow space towards them, even as she concluded that yes, she was insane for doing this.

A few seconds later she was wrestling with the awkward, floppy cover of the dumpster. She swung it up, and managed to get enough momentum going for it to swing past the ninety degree point and lazily slouch down against the wall instead of slamming closed again. The sickeningly sweet smell of rot rushed up into her nostrils, and she covered her mouth and nose with one hand.

There it was - the shiny black garbage bag that she'd seen next to the scruffy guy in the hall. From her hiding spot, Petra had seen him leave the building with it, disappearing around the corner and then returning without it shortly afterwards. It hadn't taken a genius to put together garbage bag and dumpster and to track it down to here. She was just glad that it was still right on top - she didn't think she could have brought herself to go digging around any deeper.

She took a deep breath, then instantly regretted it as the smell rose up once again. Grimacing, Petra reached out and grabbed the plastic bag, digging into it with her nails and pulling. The plastic stretched, then gave way and ripped open. Garbage poured out, and Petra jumped back in disgust.

Melon rinds splattered to the ground, generously smeared with the slimy remains of used coffee grounds. Crumpled, waxy paper cups were scattered here and there, along with some broken egg shells and old clothes.

Petra took another step back, shaking her head at nothing in particular. She didn't know what she had expected, but for some reason she'd been certain there'd be more than just...garbage. Body parts, maybe, or a bloody knife or something. An almost ridiculous sense of disappointment filled her, and she had to shake herself to get past it.

She was about to leave when a brown stain caught her eye. It was dark on the otherwise bright white fabric, as it huddled on the ground with the rest of the debris. Petra took a step forward, and gingerly fished it out of the garbage.

It was a woman's blouse, she realized a moment later, a nice one. Expensive, too - probably tailored, Petra thought. Then her eyes focused on the stain. At first she'd just thought that it was from the coffee, but it didn't take long to realize that the brown was really a dark red.

Petra dropped the blouse. Swallowing hard, she started to back up again, wondering what she should do. Then a sound reached her and she froze, too afraid to turn around. Someone was coming.

"Finally," Gwen breathed, rolling her eyes as she watched the firemen give the go for the tenants to begin filing back inside the complex. Unable to stand around idly and stare at the neighbors she didn't nor wanted to know, she had taken a stroll to a coffee place down the street. She thought she had killed enough time and returned a while later only to find that the officers were taking a longer time to let the tenants back in due to the curious fact that no signs of a fire had been found.

Not really wanting to share an elevator, Gwen rounded back around the building towards the fire escape instead of heading inside. She was nonchalant, but instantly alert when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps on gravel.

"Yuck." Gwen wrinkled her nose as she surveyed the broken garbage bag and it's contents before shifting her attention to the woman standing amongst it. She started to say something snarky about the woman's taste in recreation when she noticed the tense look of fear on her face.

"You alright?" she asked cautiously, a hand tightening on the strap of her bag as she glanced around the dumpster, looking for anyone else that might be around.

"Christ," breathed Petra, exhaling heavily. The word somehow managed to sound both peevish and terrified. "Sorry," she said a second later, desperately trying to make a recover. "It's just -" She stopped, as the awkwardness of the situation began to dawn on her. Petra glanced down at the debris scattered at her feet, and felt her cheeks start to burn. "You...scared me," she finished lamely.
She dropped her gaze to the ground, wishing that the gravel would suddenly part and swallow her whole, wishing the stranger would go away and leave her to her humiliation, wishing that this day had never started, and certainly wishing that she'd never been so stupid as to think that it was her business to play the role of amateur sleuth, digging around in other people's garbage.
She prodded the sleeve of the stained blouse with her toe, wondering how to explain herself. Nothing came to her, nothing that didn't sound insane at any rate, and she glared at the black garbage bag. It had spilled half its contents on the ground in front of her, and now was huddled near the base of the dumpster, looking as ordinary as cheap plastic could get.
Then she saw it move.