The Uncreative Writer

She Who Sees

The elevator jolted down, prompting a yelp from its sole inhabitant. The woman’s hand clutched the rail, and she caught her dead-eyed reflection staring back through the mirror. Dark circles covered her eyes and she counted four wrinkles on her forehead. She sighed. A loud clank snapped her attention back and she saw the elevator doors jamming open. Just as she exited, the doors slammed shut behind her. She glanced back, wondering what would have happened if she was one second slower. “Fuckin’ cheapskate,” she cursed the stingy landlord and shitty apartment. Nearing her unit, the hallway reeked of rotten wood. Honestly, how much could it cost to just fix things around here?