The shimmering stops and things steady out as the elevator descends. She’s muttering to herself, her heart trying to break out of her rib cage, all the crap she’s been through, and that blonde bitch has got to be the final straw, what’s pushing her over the edge to where she hardly ever sleeps and she’s seeing things, for cripes sake. But what is she supposed to do, here in this strange city where she knows no one?
“Whatever else I have to do, that is not in my contract,” she mutters, right as the shimmering comes back and the elevator car lurches beneath her. She feels it begin to plummet and then stop as abruptly, throwing her to the floor. She staggers to her feet, the elevator door gone, replaced by an old-fashioned cage. “What the actual hell?” she growls, clawing the doors open and charging for the lobby doors and Fifth Avenue and the passing cars that she can see through.
This is a Six Sentence Stories installment.