He moved down the narrow hallway with the grace of a martial arts specialist. Through the debris of moving day – boxes upon boxes stacked, bottom to top and shoulder to shoulder the length of the passage – he passed through his new abode reassessing the layout and terrain. Just like any other assignment.
Shelley’s eyes flicked on to the email from her oncologist. It had just come in. “Your results,” said the subject line, which was in bold.
Eric slumped in the wingback chair. He traced a taloned forefinger across the bony ridges of his brow, and glared balefully at the heavy black envelope on the occasional table opposite him.
She held on to the window, watching as it slowly floated away, tears welling up, refusing to run, fogging her vision until she swept them away, flicking them off. She stayed vigil at the window, looping through tears, fog, clarity, until it was long out of sight, gone, departed, until the tears no longer welled. She made not a sound while she watched, there was none that could mask the sound of her hope being shredded, so she was quiet. There was only her to hear it now anyway.
She pushed away from the window, gently twisting and flipping to correctly orientate herself as she went down the short connector between modules. Drifting into the central hub, she grabbed a handle and swung herself around and edgewards down another connector. She passed the offshoots to the tertiary and quaternary labs and continued along, running her hands along the sides to bring herself to a halt at a t-junction. With a sigh, she pushed off to her left towards the accomodation module.