Sunny, With a Chance of Rain

[Fish and Chips]

The hallway waited in silence, interrupted by the single creak of a single door. The wood panelling felt heavy under Stanfelt's palm as he stepped through. The door contested but slide from his vertical view, and he tripped up the last couple steps. His breathing was deliberate, calming considerably at the presence of no strangers or familiar faces in the hallway. He wiped his brow on a undone sleeve as he eyed the doorway with the briefest of regrets. He shouldn't leave it open. But...

The lengthy room hung in suspended animation, the smallest movement out of place, and Stanfelt was very out of place as be cut through the stillness to the end of the corridor. He tapped the elevator button, a little harder than it needed. He rocked gently to cool himself, his hands, on automatic, fixing the fringes of his jacket. His lids closed, blanketing him in a warm uncertainty as he counted the seconds for the elevator. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. The numbers grew hazy but he tightened his focus, propping himself against the wall. Please. Please let it be sunny. Even a little bit. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. The elevator hadn't taken this long on the way up.

"Are you alright son?"

Darting. The elevator doors had opened, two elderly women occupying therein, concerned. His vision cleared sharply. "I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine. I just-I just need the lobby."
"Oh well, come on in. There's plenty of room." The women smiled honestly, packing themselves to one side of the compartment. Stanfelt's stare was broken only by his own erratic breathing. He forced it off as a chuckle, forging his way into the elevator, turning back against the lush inside. The closer of the two women leaned forward to press for the lobby. The elevator hummed to life, and Stanfelt closed his eyes to the hallway forever. The door on the floor was still open as the elevator slid closed and began its downward shuffle. His demeanor stabilized, and he began to count the seconds to the bottom. One. Two.

"Have you seen Mrs. Hornley?"
Four.
"Oh no, what's the dear up to this time?"
Seven.
"Well, you never did here this from me you understand, but I was told-"

Stanfelt peeled his eyes tepidly. The ladies had already filled the tiny compartment with gossip, petty and pointless. Nothing else was important. He closed his eyes again, surrendering himself to the embalming aroma of unfounded rumor. Nothing else was important. The seconds fell by the wayside. He afforded himself a lukewarm smile, and the world grew dull.

The elevator gently shifted to a complete stop, jarring him from his rest. His hand sprang to his forehead as he excused himself from the women's company, cradling himself as he headed for the revolving doorway, his other hanging uselessly. Sunny. Please. The intricate designs of the carpet began to meld with reality around him, he did not possess the strength to elude them.

"Sir?"

The gloved hand of a hotel clerk clasped his shoulder. Violently, he turned backwards, ever retreating in the direction of the exit. "I-I don't need anything, I just...I just need to step out-outside."

"Sir, is everything alright? You seem ill." A certain corporate compassion led the clerk forward amidst the steadily drawing crowd. Stanfelt tried to shake him off, but the clerk overpowered his arm. "Sir, please, is-"

The cheerful lobby jingle temporarily held sway over the entire scene.

"...My God. Oh my God, he's bleeding. This man is bleeding, oh G-"

Stanfelt summoned what passed for the reserves of his strength and belted the clerk with his free fist, toppling him. The guests retracted in hushed horror. Stanfelt's irregular breathing returned, but the world did not change before him this time. It simply grew darker. Restless, he forced his frame for the heavily tinted glass of the revolving door.

Please. Please.

A family of five eyed him with a stark removal as they rotated into the building, facilitating his escape. He stepped, possibly gracefully, down the steps under the awning and stood for a moment, bathed in the noise of the street. Passersby took no notice of him, cars either parked or en route to somewhere. He steadied himself carefully, like a fragile tower, turning his attention skyward. Sunny.

Clouds. Thick and grey, the smell of rain fresh on the inner-city current. He stifled a laugh, even as it turned to despair. And then the darkness consumed him. He reached to his pocket, but fell listless, collapsing on the sidewalk. Indiscernible voices channeled around him, enveloping, and then disappearing.

The rain tapped against the Earth, gently.

[goldenspines]

I've already expressed my thoughts on this writing to you, but I'll say a bit here too, I suppose. XD

For such a short piece, you managed to tell a larger story; which makes it a much more interesting read.

[Esoteric]

..calming considerably at the absence of strangers or familiar faces in the hallway.

I like it very much. You have a knack for creating grim or poignant scenes in very little space.

I understand that it's part of the mystery not to know exactly how he was injured. I tend to lean toward the explanation of a 'hit' gone wrong, but there is room in the narrative for suicide or even accident. It would be nice to feel a little more 'convinced' of my interpretation since the 'truth' has an effect on the mood/irony of the outcome, but I realize that's just my personal taste.

[Tsukuyomi]

I started reading this yesterday, but Fire Fox decided to crash on me 8(

I agree with Goldy. It was short, but it told a lot. More then one would ever think.

You did a really great job of putting things out there. Keep up the great work ^__^

[Fish and Chips]

Bah, I'm sorry, I meant to come back to this thread a lot sooner.

I understand that it's part of the mystery not to know exactly how he was injured. I tend to lean toward the explanation of a 'hit' gone wrong, but there is room in the narrative for suicide or even accident. It would be nice to feel a little more 'convinced' of my interpretation since the 'truth' has an effect on the mood/irony of the outcome, but I realize that's just my personal taste.

For what it's worth, Stanfelt isn't the sort to commit suicide; however, he is the type to be resigned to his fate. A suicide would probably be left to the room itself, or done outside and cutting out the journey between.

Whether it was an accident or something Gone Wrong though, I'll leave open.

[RidleyofZebes]

A beautiful piece. It's funny... as short as it was, it felt like I'd read a lot more. The imagery was gloomy... but in a sad, hopeful way. I really enjoyed it.

[Tsukuyomi]

A beautiful piece. It's funny... as short as it was, it felt like I'd read a lot more. The imagery was gloomy... but in a sad, hopeful way. I really enjoyed it.

Hope that there will be peace at the end ^__^.. That sounds so gloomy xDD;

I wanna read moooooooooore, Fish \o.o/ I encourage you to write more ^__^

Maybe.. I said MAYBE.. I'll post some of my stuff ^__^

[Maokun]

Good stuff. These short stories with lot of hints that will never be confirmed are hard to pull off, and you did a good job with this one.

From this short sentence, "The elevator hadn't taken this long on the way up." we can deduce several things. First, Stanfelt is obsessive compulsive, even when he's not dying and had counted and memorized the seconds the elevator took lifting him up. Second, this was his first time in the hotel, whether as a guest or a patron, we can only guess, but the former seems slightly more likely judging by his regret at leaving the door of the room open. Adding this to the fact that he hadn't been outside that day as he only knew the forecast for the wheather, makes the possibility that he had a night appointment with whoever wounded him spring to mind.

Since the blood wasn't visible on his jacket (as the ladies didn't notice and the clerk only did when he touched him), we can correctly deduce that he didn't have his jacket on when he was wounded. (Was he with a woman that night? We can only guess, but his regret at leaving a hotel room's door open might also imply that he left behind a corpse.) Finally, the advanced state of mental breakdown hint that he had already lost a lot of blood.

So my deduction goes as follows: Stanfelt arrived to the hotel the night before to have an appointment with someone that most likely he already knew. He was allowed in the room and was encouraged to accept at least a certain degree of hospitality as he removed his jacket. It is probable that around this time he saw in the news or in a paper the forecast for the next day as it would be the one thing to be fixed in his obsessive mind. Then there was a skirmish between the persons in the room, where Stanfelt got a bad wound but possibly managed to finish his asailant, then he collapsed. Next day, he woke up feverish and suffering of blood loss. As he felt the life escaping out of him, his compulsive mind, free of the contraints of a reason that couldn't work properly in a wrecked up body, forced him to check the outcome of the forecast, probably relating irrationaly his chance of surviving through this ordeal to the chances of it being a sunny day. So he put his jacket on and set off on what would become his last journey. Alas, it was a rainy day.

The only lasting question is, what was he reaching for in his pocket? A pack of cigars? A picture? The forecast clipping from the newspaper? We will never know.

[Fish and Chips]

Wow, Maokun, that's actually pretty impressive. I don't really know what to say by this point, just...you have a real knack for picking stuff out.

[Lady Kenshin]

Very nice! I like this a lot.

[Maokun]

Wow, Maokun, that's actually pretty impressive. I don't really know what to say by this point, just...you have a real knack for picking stuff out.

I blame my mother and her letting me read her collection of the complete works of Agatha Christie at an age when I should have been reading the Adventures of Winnie the Pooh.

[Tsukuyomi]

Good stuff. These short stories with lot of hints that will never be confirmed are hard to pull off, and you did a good job with this one.

From this short sentence, "The elevator hadn't taken this long on the way up." we can deduce several things. First, Stanfelt is obsessive compulsive, even when he's not dying and had counted and memorized the seconds the elevator took lifting him up. Second, this was his first time in the hotel, whether as a guest or a patron, we can only guess, but the former seems slightly more likely judging by his regret at leaving the door of the room open. Adding this to the fact that he hadn't been outside that day as he only knew the forecast for the wheather, makes the possibility that he had a night appointment with whoever wounded him spring to mind.

Since the blood wasn't visible on his jacket (as the ladies didn't notice and the clerk only did when he touched him), we can correctly deduce that he didn't have his jacket on when he was wounded. (Was he with a woman that night? We can only guess, but his regret at leaving a hotel room's door open might also imply that he left behind a corpse.) Finally, the advanced state of mental breakdown hint that he had already lost a lot of blood.

So my deduction goes as follows: Stanfelt arrived to the hotel the night before to have an appointment with someone that most likely he already knew. He was allowed in the room and was encouraged to accept at least a certain degree of hospitality as he removed his jacket. It is probable that around this time he saw in the news or in a paper the forecast for the next day as it would be the one thing to be fixed in his obsessive mind. Then there was a skirmish between the persons in the room, where Stanfelt got a bad wound but possibly managed to finish his asailant, then he collapsed. Next day, he woke up feverish and suffering of blood loss. As he felt the life escaping out of him, his compulsive mind, free of the contraints of a reason that couldn't work properly in a wrecked up body, forced him to check the outcome of the forecast, probably relating irrationaly his chance of surviving through this ordeal to the chances of it being a sunny day. So he put his jacket on and set off on what would become his last journey. Alas, it was a rainy day.

The only lasting question is, what was he reaching for in his pocket? A pack of cigars? A picture? The forecast clipping from the newspaper? We will never know.

Asdfjkl, this post makes me wish this WASN'T a short story xDD

I already did wanted to know what happened, but this post peeks my curiosity even more ^__^

How would've you made things play out if you were to do a flash back sequence, Fish ^___^?

[Fish and Chips]

I blame my mother and her letting me read her collection of the complete works of Agatha Christie at an age when I should have been reading the Adventures of Winnie the Pooh.

That would do it.

Asdfjkl, this post makes me wish this WASN'T a short story xDD

I already did wanted to know what happened, but this post peeks my curiosity even more ^__^

How would've you made things play out if you were to do a flash back sequence, Fish ^___^?

The shameful thing is, I deliberately left the pre-scene as open and undefined as possible. Even I couldn't tell you exactly what happened, though all the people guessing there's a body left behind are probably correct. So no, I wouldn't have played out a flash back. I think more magic lays in the reader's ability to surmise what they think happened, as Maokun's exceptionally well-thought out response shows.

That or I could just take credit for everything. Just As Planned.