Lottie's a short for Charlotta

1

This story has no moral.

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It was very muggy that day - the stagnant air between gray streets sticking to the sweaty skin and settling on everything with the smell of damp concrete and dust. The metal railings of gray footbridges over the main and only transport route towards the city center hummed softly when wet hands lay on them. Two girls with school bags paused for a moment to rest their hot bodies, breathe heavily after climbing twenty-eight of the same steps, and gaze up at the sky, hanging sadly over the gray city. Pink streaks of afternoon sun mingled overhead with the darkness of storm clouds - a remnant of morning rain - that still swirled to the east. The colors met each other just above the line of their eyes, very noticeable, but from the footbridges there was always a good view of everything. Even the town hall, usually openly admired by children returning from school, and today disappearing under the gray mass of people gathered in the square. From this distance, you couldn't hear any conversations, even the slightest murmur, only the whirring of big black armored cars and the artificial crackle of microphones. The girls' hands slipped from the warm metal as they stood on tiptoes and pricked their ears to understand something more. All for nothing. 

One of them - taller and thinner - stepped back and raised her hand to bite on a loose button on the sleeve of a coarse coat. The coat was also gray.

"We have to go home," the second girl's squeaky voice cut through the air and distracted the first. She quickly detached her teeth from the button (little children bite things and large ones take care of them) and turned her head to look at the shorter friend.

Girl's reddened face glistened with sweat, the numerous freckles starting to look morbid, and her bulging, pale eyes paranoidly looked around from one stair to the next.

"I'm curious. I want to know what's going on" she muttered instead of answering, in a tone much more indifferent than the words'd suggest, dull and colorless enough to be completely blurred in the warm afternoon mood. 

She didn't expect to receive a reaction and she was right. The smaller girl squeezed wet fingers around the sleeve of her coat and they both walked on. Their identical shoes snapped loudly on the concrete, so after each step they looked around to make sure nobody was lurking and watching them go.

The fears were unfounded, because when they slipped from the last, twenty-eighth step, they were still alone. Wide walkways blocked their sense of smell with soaked dust, and the huge buildings around them cut off the view of the sky. It got darker and more claustrophobic, but it stopped the girls from feeling observed. Like rats in an alley, they'd press their hot bodies tighter against each other.

"We have to go home" the smaller one blew again, shaking her triangular head. She rested her pointed chin on the taller's upper arm, brushing her bright cheek with mousy hair. The hair was as thin and soft as cotton swabs, and when she tied them into a stiff bun over the nape of her neck, they got even smaller, so you'd see patches of bald skull.

"I have a feeling. Like something's wrong" she replied instead of agreeing, although they both knew it. Otherwise, they wouldn't have to be here this early because the last class at school got canceled. It'd never been done before, so all the children were hanging around the pitch for a while, waiting for teachers to tell everyone to come back. Later they got chased away.

Now they almost reached a metal, slightly rusty staircase that zigzagged up the wall of the building, giving access to five same corridors. Small flats will be empty at this hour. At last she'd slide her coat off her wet shoulders and hang it by the main door, locked not with a key, but with a thin, easy-to-force chain. Her younger brother once tried to find out how hard a door should be slammed to destroy it. Mum often said that violence was the last resort of a helpless man, but she still gave him a huge spanking.