Thoughts
((If this would be more appropriate posted to a different part of the comm, lemme know and I'll move it.))
Fingers too sore for any more fine work, Edna's been doggedly working on the small store front on Oak Street. It isn't large, clean, or terribly up to date as far as interior decor goes, but it will do. The carpet had to go, happily, there was a rather nice if horribly battered wooden floor beneath. She's spent most of the last few evenings cleaning and then painting. The two display windows have been covered with newsprint, but the store lights are on and it's evident someone is busy inside.
The walls are now a pleasant shade of stark white with a single wall to accent in pale gray. Best not to get involved in any particular color scheme, she doesn't want to have to repaint the place every season. White is uinversal, gray, more so. The walls and ceiling (good lord, what a pain that was) taken care of, she's moved on to refinishing the floor. The first thing to be done is sand the beast. A machine is too big for her to handle, she she's done most of it by hand. Suddenly the square footage seems doubled. It doesn't matter, but the monotony gives her time to think about how she'll set up the displays and mannequins, the placing of the sheet mirrors she's bought, light fixtures, and so forth. The aforementioned mirrors are lying propped up against the wall opposite where she kneels, scrubbing at the beaten floorboards with a scrap of sandpaper.
She catches a brief glimpse of herself in the mirror and stops, unable to look away. Despite being a fashion designer for most of her life, for the last three decades Edna had never taken much interest in her own appearance outside of basic formalities. As long as she looked clean and presentable, there was no need to waste time on anything else. At one time she had worried about how she looked and what she was wearing, and to have that same childish face looking back at her through the cellophane wrapping of the mirror is surreal.
Hadn't she done this once before? Wasn't this part of her life over? Didn't she leave it behind as completely as she'd left her old dimension? And then it hits her; the sudden cold and empty feeling, as if something's been abruptly pulled loose, unplugged. The friends, the people she'd loved...her bond with them has been cut, severed by the tear in reality. It isn't like the healed-over love for her long deceased parents, or the vague, stretched feeling of...no. No she wasn't going to think about this. She isn't, dammit!
Except her eyes are already prickling uncomfortably, the pins-and-needles feeling beginning behind her nose. She is not going to cry, dammit. There is nothing to cry about. Furiously she attacks the floor, chastising herself for such foolishness. Crying helps nothing, solves nothing. It wastes water and energy and...and... But it hurts. It hurts. She's lived all her life as a single woman but she'd had friends, co-workers, clients, acquaintances. She was never alone like this.
The night slowly warms to dawn and the streetlamps flicker and fade. The lights behind the papered shop windows, however, remain on.
Fingers too sore for any more fine work, Edna's been doggedly working on the small store front on Oak Street. It isn't large, clean, or terribly up to date as far as interior decor goes, but it will do. The carpet had to go, happily, there was a rather nice if horribly battered wooden floor beneath. She's spent most of the last few evenings cleaning and then painting. The two display windows have been covered with newsprint, but the store lights are on and it's evident someone is busy inside.
The walls are now a pleasant shade of stark white with a single wall to accent in pale gray. Best not to get involved in any particular color scheme, she doesn't want to have to repaint the place every season. White is uinversal, gray, more so. The walls and ceiling (good lord, what a pain that was) taken care of, she's moved on to refinishing the floor. The first thing to be done is sand the beast. A machine is too big for her to handle, she she's done most of it by hand. Suddenly the square footage seems doubled. It doesn't matter, but the monotony gives her time to think about how she'll set up the displays and mannequins, the placing of the sheet mirrors she's bought, light fixtures, and so forth. The aforementioned mirrors are lying propped up against the wall opposite where she kneels, scrubbing at the beaten floorboards with a scrap of sandpaper.
She catches a brief glimpse of herself in the mirror and stops, unable to look away. Despite being a fashion designer for most of her life, for the last three decades Edna had never taken much interest in her own appearance outside of basic formalities. As long as she looked clean and presentable, there was no need to waste time on anything else. At one time she had worried about how she looked and what she was wearing, and to have that same childish face looking back at her through the cellophane wrapping of the mirror is surreal.
Hadn't she done this once before? Wasn't this part of her life over? Didn't she leave it behind as completely as she'd left her old dimension? And then it hits her; the sudden cold and empty feeling, as if something's been abruptly pulled loose, unplugged. The friends, the people she'd loved...her bond with them has been cut, severed by the tear in reality. It isn't like the healed-over love for her long deceased parents, or the vague, stretched feeling of...no. No she wasn't going to think about this. She isn't, dammit!
Except her eyes are already prickling uncomfortably, the pins-and-needles feeling beginning behind her nose. She is not going to cry, dammit. There is nothing to cry about. Furiously she attacks the floor, chastising herself for such foolishness. Crying helps nothing, solves nothing. It wastes water and energy and...and... But it hurts. It hurts. She's lived all her life as a single woman but she'd had friends, co-workers, clients, acquaintances. She was never alone like this.
The night slowly warms to dawn and the streetlamps flicker and fade. The lights behind the papered shop windows, however, remain on.