Windows on the World (rewrite)

Golden Blue Sky

The digital numbers keep growing and glowing in an unnerving red color on the indicator, marking the arrival to my destination as if it is a countdown in reverse. It seems like this so-called express elevator will never reach a stop.

Seventy-five floors and those first-day jitters haven't left my body yet. My hands can't stop fidgeting with the dress shirt that my mom imposed on me this morning so I would give the professional look that I lack of normally.

Numbers escalate further. Soon the shirt is no longer neatly tucked into the black jeans I insisted on wearing to keep at least some sense of my own self and have it bring me a slice of comfort and familiarity.

Floor ninety-two and I think I might be nearing space as soon as it becomes harder to breathe. The absence of other people in the elevator makes me question my own presence: did the alarm clock malfunction and send me off to work at a completely disparate hour?; am I even awake?

A big yawn that almost makes my jaw pop reminds me that I am.

One hundred and six turns into one hundred and seven. The elevator halts slowly and screeches a rather unpleasant ding into my sensitive eardrums. They are still as sleepy as I am, and unaccustomed to the constant haywire orchestra of this city.

Tasteless metallic doors part and make way for me. My oxfords sink into a carpet that feels very much like I'm actually in the sky, stepping onto a cloud. Might I sink into it? Its geometric pattern looks as though it branches out in different and confusing directions. But I know the way as soon as a dash of natural light slaps my sleep-deprived face.

There's an elegant reception, but nobody there to receive me. Once again I question the nature of this morning's reality. There isn't a sound.

With no one to greet me, I allow myself inside, walking past the reception and to the left, the East side of the tower, I believe. It's hard to make out where you are when you've just been inside a sealed elevator and it seems like the only discernible place is up. The restaurant's logo and its subtly pretentious name greet me above glass doors that oppose with heavy resistance to being pulled open.

Going down a couple sets of steps, tables set to high standards come into view. The floor plan is interesting; there are different levels to it, some of the eating areas are lowered, like conversation pits in avant-garde houses from the sixties or seventies. An irregular terrain that I soon visualize will be difficult to maneuver while carrying trays. I groan quietly at the thought. The rusty tone of the cushioned chairs surprises me—I would have expected a color picked out from the logo's palette. Perhaps they feared it would look too much like an IKEA store.

Rather than keep studying the layout of my new workplace, I try to focus on honing into any kind of sound. I do start to hear the clanking of metal and delicate glass, and make out muffled voices confined somewhere. They reassure me I'm not dreaming about being the last person on Earth.

Still, I don't yet set out to find them. The dawn's sunlight is acting like a tractor beam and pulling me toward the windows. Narrow vertical windows that cut up the view into tall sections, like the arrowslits on fortifications from which archers used to shoot guardedly. It is another strange choice to interrupt the view in a place that boasts so much about it with its name alone (again, you can't deny the pretentiousness). Even so, when I lean toward it, fitting my body into the crevice, all I can see is city, water, and sky. This gives me a momentary surge of vertigo, a prickling fear that I will fall into the view if I stop holding onto the steel beams at my side.

Believing myself to be on top of the world—surely like the fat cats in these buildings do—I also believe that I can see everything in ways that I haven't before. The curvature of the Earth bends on the dazzling, sun-splashed water and the carved skyline.

What am I doing here? I don't belong among these people. I don't belong putting on a pretend smile on a terribly honest face while serving tourists with loose wallets and executives with overflowing wallets. Is this greatness really meant be shared out with a broke soon-to-be student/waitress? Then again, if it wasn't, there would be none here to cater to these types of wallets and there would be no appeal to visit this view in place of the one South of it.

The sun is settling into the bright blue summer sky and that's when I understand why the logo is the way it is. It is the exact same image. Golden sun rays on a cyan backdrop. I can almost picture the name of the restaurant plastered across the sight before me, welcoming me for a second time...

PART I

This was the new prologue. As you can see we've changed to a present and first person POV. Do you think it fits better this way?