Viss notiek likumsakarīgī
Who: The Doctor, The Secretary
When: Friday morning on this, April the twenty-third
Where: Where else is a secretary to go but The Office
What: Missing for several weeks. Gone. An unexplained occurrence. The youth that was taken has returned again...
It was quieter when it rained.
Springtime showers did not fall so much as sigh, lamenting over rooftops until withering coughs splattered it on cobblestones below with force enough to remove even the oldest, sturdiest layers of dirt. On one such evening where dreary daylight hours of hacking water gave way to feeble breaths of mist, Liberty's sidewalks shimmered golden under the returning luminance of daylight. Water glinted, bright diamonds to the eye in puddles settled placidly upon the ground, benches, surfaces where it could catch and rest. The city had become a mirror. Shadow, light, serenity and stillness.
Idleness but for the forms that chanced to move. A piece of torn, crackling cellophane. A pigeon taking flight in search of safe roosting. People in transit, leaving, returning, to, from.
An entity phased by plated glass, passing through fog off the corner of 8th in Liberty's shopping district, pale wisps of moisture stirred by shambling feet. The soles were peeling from the shoes, the clothing worn. The limbs hung heavy and the lips cracked anew with the minute movements of hushed, whispered words. Delicate violet eyes stared ahead and the hair glowing under the descending sun was matted. Soaked. Filthy.
He stopped in front of a barber shop- closed- sweeping damp strands off his forehead, watching the action reflected back at him as though it were someone else.
A missing person was in the window, staring at him. He reached up, briefly touching fingertips to illusory fingertips then, just as suddenly, he was in motion again. Gone. Stalking down the sidewalk with his mind as hazy as the city.
Vaguely cleared when he passed an apartment complex that stirred something inside him. An emotion of regret. Distress. Affection? But it passed as he passed and he followed where his feet were instinctively telling him to go. Turn, walk, walk farther and-
Stop.
Breaking in the first time was a blur. It was after he had forced himself inside another door that the mire of disorientation thinned away and he sat down heavily on a creaking chair in front of a black, lifeless computer screen. Passed his hands over post it notes stuck on the desk and realized he was back.
Not at home. Not with Peter, but at the office. Doctor Braginski's office.
'Viss notiek likumsakarīgī', Raivis thought. 'Everything happens for a reason...'
When: Friday morning on this, April the twenty-third
Where: Where else is a secretary to go but The Office
What: Missing for several weeks. Gone. An unexplained occurrence. The youth that was taken has returned again...
It was quieter when it rained.
Springtime showers did not fall so much as sigh, lamenting over rooftops until withering coughs splattered it on cobblestones below with force enough to remove even the oldest, sturdiest layers of dirt. On one such evening where dreary daylight hours of hacking water gave way to feeble breaths of mist, Liberty's sidewalks shimmered golden under the returning luminance of daylight. Water glinted, bright diamonds to the eye in puddles settled placidly upon the ground, benches, surfaces where it could catch and rest. The city had become a mirror. Shadow, light, serenity and stillness.
Idleness but for the forms that chanced to move. A piece of torn, crackling cellophane. A pigeon taking flight in search of safe roosting. People in transit, leaving, returning, to, from.
An entity phased by plated glass, passing through fog off the corner of 8th in Liberty's shopping district, pale wisps of moisture stirred by shambling feet. The soles were peeling from the shoes, the clothing worn. The limbs hung heavy and the lips cracked anew with the minute movements of hushed, whispered words. Delicate violet eyes stared ahead and the hair glowing under the descending sun was matted. Soaked. Filthy.
He stopped in front of a barber shop- closed- sweeping damp strands off his forehead, watching the action reflected back at him as though it were someone else.
A missing person was in the window, staring at him. He reached up, briefly touching fingertips to illusory fingertips then, just as suddenly, he was in motion again. Gone. Stalking down the sidewalk with his mind as hazy as the city.
Vaguely cleared when he passed an apartment complex that stirred something inside him. An emotion of regret. Distress. Affection? But it passed as he passed and he followed where his feet were instinctively telling him to go. Turn, walk, walk farther and-
Stop.
Breaking in the first time was a blur. It was after he had forced himself inside another door that the mire of disorientation thinned away and he sat down heavily on a creaking chair in front of a black, lifeless computer screen. Passed his hands over post it notes stuck on the desk and realized he was back.
Not at home. Not with Peter, but at the office. Doctor Braginski's office.
'Viss notiek likumsakarīgī', Raivis thought. 'Everything happens for a reason...'