Flakey Paint, Camembert and a Balcony

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The small click of a key resonated through the apartment before the door opened. A distorted figure shuffled into the dim room. It dipped and swayed ever so slightly from side to side, as it tried to cross the squeaky floorboards, while balancing under the weight of the bags it carried. Underneath all those bags was Marinette.

From her left forearm dangled a multitude of plastic bags, filled to the brim with groceries. With the same arm she held a sealed cardboard box, obscuring her head. It was full of old, used sketch books. Her other hand clutched the handle of a plastic, bulky purple suitcase, the scars and dents dotted over it revealed a history of neglect from many a vigorous packing session, much like the one inflicted a few hours prior.

She wore a backpack and an almost bursting duffel bag slung on her side, banging against her hip. Despite this, her journey to the apartment hadn't been as eventful as she believed it would, and she had managed to carry all her belongings through the building and into the elevator successfully, despite some mildly bewildered glances from other tenants cast her way. Honestly it was as much of a surprise to herself as well as everyone else that she was still standing, since she had virtually no balance and usually couldn't make it a meter before tripping on air. Yet despite the odds she had made it without incident.

Once she had somehow shut the door, she stooped down and dropped her luggage to the floor with a groan. Rolling her shoulders to relieve the ache embedded in her sore muscles, relishing in the new lightness of her back. Clumsily, she fumbled around the wall by door in search of a light switch. There was another small click and a low hum filled the room before the lights stuttered to life and dimly illuminated the apartment.

On entering the room, there was a small kitchenette straight ahead of her, just to the right of the bedroom door. The yellow glow from the street lights below, shone through a window above the kitchenette counter onto the little round table in front, accompanied by a single, plastic chair. The lone window had a rather pitiful view of the grimy building opposite. To her left, pressed against the living room wall, a small worn leather sofa faced a blank, tattered wall that had clearly seen better days. The decaying olive green that had once plastered itself to the surface like a stain had taken on a more dull, mossy texture and in some places had begun to flake off all together revealing the grey, crusty plastering underneath. A wooden desk, that looked suspiciously like it was only a couple of loose screws away falling to pieces, sat right next to the door. The dented, dull metal legs glinted slightly in the musty light, it's splintered wooden surface was bare, save for the thin layer of dust that had accumulated during the apartments' vacancy.

The bedroom was separated from the living room and kitchenette by two thin, bland walls and a rather faded wooden door. Inside it, a single, creaky bed was pushed between two pine draws. Opposite, slightly hidden in the dim light, a simple, tall wardrobe leaned. A light blue door connected the bedroom to a rather cramped bathroom, a single lightbulb flickered hazily on the ceiling casting a pale glow on the polished cream tiles. Watermarks from last night's downpour trailed down the sliding window next to the bed, leading out onto a small balcony. From which, she could see the, sprawling city where the hustle and bustle of late-night traffic and shouts of drunken party goers could be heard below. Thin, smoke-grey curtains that guarded either side of the sliding window, fluttered gently in the breeze. Not that they were necessary, as the city seemed fix in a permanent state of gloom. 

 

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