Nowhere To Go But Up
She walked through the storm of swirling snow, rain, and ice. The New York winter weather was anything but kind to those who liked the warm. The frosty air found the little bits of exposed skin, the bit of her wrist where the glove met her coat. It blew deep down into her boot, where her sock reached the leg of her jean. She braced herself, clutching the manuscript tight to her chest. Her manuscript was her life, the only thing keeping her afloat in the craziness of this world.
She had tried all the publishing companies in New York. This was her last chance. She had nowhere to go but up. She reached her destination, a tall, glass building that made her tremble in her boots. She pushed the revolving door, looking around at her surroundings. The information desk was to one side, plush chairs surrounding it. There was a cart offering hot chocolate, coffee, or tea. As a writer, she went straight for the coffee, the only thing that kept her sane in the madhouse that was her mind. She took a sip, relishing the somewhat bitter taste.
She pressed the "up" button on the wall near the elevators, watching the floors tick by. Eight, seven, six…
"Ding!"
"What floor?" asked the elevator man.
"Up," she said. "I have nowhere to go but up."
Since it's a short story, I didn't flesh out the characters as much as I would have if it was a novel.
Thanks for reading!
xxoo,
Eve
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