Balcony | A flash fiction story
5 of đź’Ż
Coles stepped onto the large balcony and the cold wind pushed him back inside. Out there, she approached the railing, each step firm and certain on top of high heels.
“If it’s true,” she said while he struggled to get outside, “that you have been facilitating the egress of people from Anchora, that means you don’t know this company, and you don’t know your place in it.” Her powerful voice pierced through the wind.
She put her hands on the railing and leaned over the city, her suit and her hair impeccable, in complete disregard for the storm approaching. The short, plump man dabbed his forehead with a silk handkerchief.
“Most importantly,” she said and turned slowly to face him, “it means you don’t know me.”
There was a crash of thunder behind her.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Miss- Miss Atlanta, ma’am,” the man stuttered. “As I said, there- there- there must have been a mistake. I reviewed the internal rules-”
“I make the rules, Mr. Coles!” She stepped toward him. “I know you, you sick little man. You spend your days swimming in an ocean of paperwork, looking for a crack through which you can slip your fat little fingers.” She leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “Unlike you, I know my company. And I know you, Mr. Coles.”
She stood straight, her fingers crossed behind her back. She walked slowly past him.
“Nobody on this planet,” she said, “goes anywhere unless I allow it, Mr. Coles. If I want people to stay somewhere…” She stepped back inside, leaving the man on the balcony. “They do. They stay there for as long as I want.”
The little man looked at his boss with wide eyes while her finger hovered over the button by the door.
“Unless they jump,” she said and pressed the button, making the thick sliding doors close shut between them.
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