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One sudden horrific moment shifts the entire trajectory of Atlas and Errol's lives, handicapping both young men in ways they could never have expected. A sculptor without his sight, and a piani...
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For just how loud the rain was, Errol shifting in that creaky wooden chair was somehow ten thousand times louder. It sounded like a door on rusty hinges, wrongly fitted into an old wood frame.
I wanted to throw it, and him, against the fucking wall.
"Errol," I sighed, stopping what I was doing completely. "If you're uncomfortable, try to find another chair in the storage room. It's the room down the corridor near the front desk." I explained. It didn't even take Errol more than a second to spring to his feet. I heard the wooden chair screech against the cement floor when he supposedly pushed it back.
"Oh thank god." He replied without hesitancy. "I was starting to lose circulation to my ass."
The comment was so abrupt, I was at first too stunned to speak... then I let out an equally abrupt laugh.
"Just don't touch anything else. Everything is sort of stacked up against each other and things will definitely fall if you aren't careful." I added, remembering what the other artists and Nyra had told me when I first moved everything in. Errol's steps echoed against the cement floors, as he headed towards the door.
"Sure thing!" He called out to me before I heard the metal door slide open.
I had complete faith that he was going to break at least one thing in there, but I lacked all energy to do anything about it. Luckily, the storage was a mix of rejected things, and extra supplies up for grabs for whoever wanted it. It was like a little artists open shop and was also probably one of the many reasons I loved this place so much.
I remembered one of the artists mentioning some furniture he had moved into there not too long ago. I think his name was Berg, and I only remembered that because I immediately thought of Iceberg lettuce when he introduced himself. My brain had to do little things like that- associate names with things. I didn't have a person's features anymore to help with remembering a name. Just a voice... and sometimes a scent.
You'd be surprised how quickly a persons scent can impact your memory. For instance, Atticus smelt like Marlboro Reds. His love for cigarettes left this permanent scent that attached itself to everything he wore, regardless of the fabric. I could smell him as soon as he entered a room.
Nyra on the other hand always smelt refreshing. Like someone spilt a bottle of air freshener in the room, but in a good way. She liked to switch scents often, but the undertones were always something clean, like eucalyptus or sage.
My thoughts were proven correct almost immediately when I heard a loud band come from somehow down the corridor. Before I could begin to process what the hell that was, a faint but clear voice carried through the hall.
"I'm okay!" Errol yelled from the storage room.
"That's not exactly what we're worried about, is it Dash?" I spoke to my best bud who was now making his way to me. I could hear his harness jingle as he moved closer to my feet. He probably expected us to get up and investigate the sound, but dealing with both Errol and that storage room was not on the agenda for my morning.
