The Contract

I

The light spilled out like water across the floor. It was soft, sinking under the carpet and wood beneath. There were long fingers of cloth in motion, blood that poured from a wound. They guarded the windows, the doors, watched for outside eyes in world with none.

At the center of the room there was a long reclining chair. Beside that there was a couch. A small table kneeled at its feet, indistinct in all.

There was a women sitting on the couch. She folded her hands like a napkin, a gown in her lap. There, she said nothing nor looked to anyone. She was silent. Her eyes were dead. Guiding a cup to her lips, she drank from it slowly. She moved as though it might break.

The entire room was around her was monochrome, red. The carpet was red, the curtains and furniture were red. The small dress she wore was red. Everything seemed if pointing—staring at the room and its center. But there was nothing. Their gaze led nowhere. Instead, there was only a women, drinking her tea from a crowd of nobody.

“Your late” Her voice sung sharp. “I've been waiting you know. You had better have a good excuse.”

A man appeared.

“None that would please you.”

He sat at the table.

“Have you brought the paperwork?” She continued.

“Right here.”

“Good. Then I assume we have a deal.”

“Correct.”

“You'll be wanting to see the client of course. I haven't contacted her yet.”

“No?”

“Soon enough.”

II

It was a hot summer's day then. The sun above beat the earth like a hammer. Further on, in a quiet town seldom noticed or seen, it settled unnaturally, the one spot untouched by its pulse.

It was cold there. The residents were little aware, neither wise nor foolish. They went about their day as all the world, never noticing it the same.

Hanging from the lip of the town there was a house to be seen, nothing special in its appearance. It was plain, white, obscured in a thick musk of weeds as well as shrubs. Together, they made a castle there, built from the masonry of its former garden. They chocked out the windows and doors. They tied like hands around its neck.

Inside, past the open glass and unkept floor, there was a girl. She laid there like a heap. From a white bed her body contorted and bent, twisted into rings as she turned. Her hair, a chocolate blanket she slept with, hugged between her legs, her chest, teased the wind as it came, invited it in and to stay.

There was a loose notebook of papers on her desk. It flickered there, noiseless and dead. Gently stirring in place, the girl began the long ritual of moving again. She fumbled about, her hands and arms reacquainting themselves. It was a slow process. Climbing her bed like an arctic slab, she found the top of it as if mountain.

Once to the floor, she glided across the surface and to her closet, moving as if carried. She was quiet, any sounds that escaped were pulled back with a tug. There, she got dressed. She put on a long T-shirt and some new underwear. She was still for a moment.

All about the room there was the taste of breakfast, golden eggs and a rich, white milk. She could smell from where she stood. Drawing closer, a cat in her steps, she reached the stairs, watched past it for any visiting motions. But there were none. The entire house was empty, spare only her. She smiled at the discovery.

Throwing herself like a river down the stairs she poured into the kitchen, tackled a seat on the isle and took busy with eating. The space around her was yellow nectar, baked in the morning's mint youth.


The story thus far is unfished. Not sure if it'll ever be. Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope it wasn't too bad.