Weak Sunbeams
One.
A weak sunbeam crawled across the carpet, slowly inching its way up the bed skirt, and over the mattress, to lie across her pale legs intertwined in the sheets. She turned over and looked to the window, at the faint sunrise just starting to climb its way up over the skyline. She buried her face into the pillow that smelled like cheap cologne and sweat and sighed.
A few seconds later she rolled out of bed, pulling the thin, threadbare sheet with her. Her feet hit the rough, orange shag carpet and she shuffled around, gathering her clothes into a pile. Her bra was over a rickety lampshade, her red patent leather heels kicked under a 70’s arm chair. Mid-way through bending down to pick up her black skirt, she caught her reflection in a mirror on the wall and froze.
Dark hair was in tangles all around her face, red lipstick smeared across her lips and cheek, black eyeliner smudged. Her thin arms were clutching the sheet to her chest, hands knotted up in the fabric. But her gray eyes were dull and glassy, sunken in.
She looked broken.
She choked back a small sob and finished finding all her clothes. She thought about taking a shower, but didn’t want to be in the dingy motel room any longer than necessary. She dropped the sheet and quickly changed, shimmying into her tight miniskirt and pulling her see-through white tank over her shoulders.
Her bag was by the front door and she grabbed it. She didn’t even bother with putting her shoes back on, and just hooked her fingers through the back of them.
The last thing she did before leaving the room was scoop up the money on the bedside table and shove it into her purse.
The hallway carpet was a wavy orange and green pattern, the walls covered in fraying wallpaper. The lobby was the same, done in tacky shades of orange and red, and it was stifling warm. There was a family checking in, kids running around. When the mother caught sight of her, she pulled her children closer.
“Hey, Mom, look,” the little boy said, pointing over at her.
The mother shushed him, and she thought she heard something like no, honey, don’t look at her.
She walked by them, felt their judgmental stares and knew what they were thinking. She knew that they were all aware what she was, what she had to become to survive.
But instead of breaking down in the middle of the hideous lobby like she so wanted to, she walked out into the weak sunbeams of the rising sun, head held high.
A few seconds later she rolled out of bed, pulling the thin, threadbare sheet with her. Her feet hit the rough, orange shag carpet and she shuffled around, gathering her clothes into a pile. Her bra was over a rickety lampshade, her red patent leather heels kicked under a 70’s arm chair. Mid-way through bending down to pick up her black skirt, she caught her reflection in a mirror on the wall and froze.
Dark hair was in tangles all around her face, red lipstick smeared across her lips and cheek, black eyeliner smudged. Her thin arms were clutching the sheet to her chest, hands knotted up in the fabric. But her gray eyes were dull and glassy, sunken in.
She looked broken.
She choked back a small sob and finished finding all her clothes. She thought about taking a shower, but didn’t want to be in the dingy motel room any longer than necessary. She dropped the sheet and quickly changed, shimmying into her tight miniskirt and pulling her see-through white tank over her shoulders.
Her bag was by the front door and she grabbed it. She didn’t even bother with putting her shoes back on, and just hooked her fingers through the back of them.
The last thing she did before leaving the room was scoop up the money on the bedside table and shove it into her purse.
The hallway carpet was a wavy orange and green pattern, the walls covered in fraying wallpaper. The lobby was the same, done in tacky shades of orange and red, and it was stifling warm. There was a family checking in, kids running around. When the mother caught sight of her, she pulled her children closer.
“Hey, Mom, look,” the little boy said, pointing over at her.
The mother shushed him, and she thought she heard something like no, honey, don’t look at her.
She walked by them, felt their judgmental stares and knew what they were thinking. She knew that they were all aware what she was, what she had to become to survive.
But instead of breaking down in the middle of the hideous lobby like she so wanted to, she walked out into the weak sunbeams of the rising sun, head held high.
♠ ♠ ♠
I pretty much loved this.Feedback would be appreciated.
-Beki