by HappyHappyHierophant » 03/13/2012 9:05 PM
Almost instantaneously, a slim, petite woman's silhouette hit the frosted glass of the main office doors. There was a buzz from a behind the grating of a metal box that locked the door clearly shut. After a crackle, a woman's voice came from the device.
"Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome to the Factory. This is the twenty-seventh floor, the main CEO's office. I'm Elizabeth Desmond. How may I be of your assistance?"
---
The bus tire under Johnathan jolted with a start, causing Jonathan to flinch awake. "Sorry about that," laughed the driver through the mirror, "It's a country road."
Johnathan hadn't been sure how long he had been asleep, but by the time he awoke, startled by his reflection in the window against the dark blue sky, the horizon had been beaded with thousands of tiny stars, and the woman with the novel that he had startled was long gone, most likely to one of the several ports along the river. He realized that except for the driver and himself, the bus was empty.
Bleary eyed, the initial shock of awaking was fading away, and he let his head squeak to a rest once again on the headrest. But before he could fall asleep again, the intercom went off within the bus.
"Sir, is this your stop? I can drop you off closer to a hotel, if you like."
"No- thank you, this is good." He tipped the driver generously, and unboarded.
Inhaling the salty smell of the sea, he was suddenly reminded fondly of his mother. And then her death, which rose up from his mind like a dead fish on the shore. Like-wise he brushed it away. The town still felt strangely familiar, small stucco villas, all with aqua door and shutters. His feet guided him. This town had rarely come to his thoughts while working in Medicai. Yet, being here - it seemed as if the mask of the hard-nosed executive could finally be stowed away.
It was late and dark, and not a single window was lit was in each of the villas. The streetlamps had long been snuffed out, even the tallowy smell drifted off over the sea. But he knew the address by heart. He had lived there half of his life, after all. And so, the white iron gate, the paint chipping off in places from neglect, creaked open, and he came home for the first time.