Surpassed Part II
She was a winter coat, a long scarf and
boots reaching her knees under her abaya. Her gloved hands gripped an oversized
folder and occasionally a thermostat filled with coffee . She was the type to
stay late at the library , typing furiously, finishing biro pen after biro pen,
one job to the next. She was also the type to wait until the librarian was
preoccupied and climb two flights of stairs, to walk back and forth between the
shelves , just to admire long forgotten books. You’d seldom know she was there
at all save for the occasional dusty finger print.
It was 4:07 when she left the house that morning, an old backpack slung across her shoulders. Less thought more walk. There was dawn not quite sprawled across city pavements and a girl walking with such determined footing you’d never guess.
A small, black stairwell opposite the park.
It didn’t take much, just the kick of a heel, her boots flung surprisingly neatly into a corner, her bag much the same, with a small chink –a bracelet she didn’t have the heart to throw away.
It was 4:07 when she left the house that morning, an old backpack slung across her shoulders. Less thought more walk. There was dawn not quite sprawled across city pavements and a girl walking with such determined footing you’d never guess.
A small, black stairwell opposite the park.
It didn’t take much, just the kick of a heel, her boots flung surprisingly neatly into a corner, her bag much the same, with a small chink –a bracelet she didn’t have the heart to throw away.
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