She takes her arms down from over her head, pulls up out of her cringe. The shimmering has stopped, morphed into something even more unsettling. Glimpses of – somethings – trees? – she doesn’t even know what – flash in the sky and all around her, then blip back out to reveal the office building, the street, the traffic – then blip – things are once again hurtling through space all around her.
She wishes crazily for a bomb shelter, but they don’t make those anymore, do they?
If you’d asked her only an hour ago, she’d have said there was no worse place to be than the Office from Hell on the twenty-second floor of Westlake Tower. She might have to rethink that one.
This is a Six Sentence Stories installment with thanks to Ivy, as always. The cue was “floor.”