The Professional building was gray and lifeless. It was not known if people went there. Crowded cubicles could be seen from its empty windows, but they were of no importance. Stacks of papers passed through this building, but they were apparently filed by ghosts. There was one small room in the building, and that's where the vacuum cleaners lived. The appliances used to have names, but such whimsy was frowned on, so they no longer had names.
There was no fun allowed in the Professional Building, and you were expected to shun away from the sort. The walls of the building ate ideas and souls on a regular basis, but the janitorial staff were good at scrubbing away the residuals. The desks were buried beneath piles of coiled phone cords and files that had long since fallen into decomposition.
Yellow and frayed were the pages, like the scraggly curl of un-clipped nails. It was a brutal place to be. It was a place that nobody should have been. And that is why nobody was there.
But why did the building exist? What was the purpose of the Professional Building? Did the vacuum cleaners have children, and were they needed to rid the surrounding carpeting of dust? Nobody cared about vacuum cleaners, and there weren't any people to breath in the dust, so vacuumized offspring were out of the question.
Gloria sifted through her notes, shaking her head in dismay. 'I grow tired of these games,' she said, her ruby lips fixed in a practical scowl, 'and you can't leave yet. Maybe in a few hours, or days. Doesn't matter to me.'
She was a crow-keeper, and he was locked in a cage of twisted silver bars. The light from candles slid down the bars. Heat was consumed by the touch of her icy breath. He had no way of escaping, for she held the key, dangling in rings at the end of her index finger. She sat on a pin-cushion of black velvet, legs crossed, and she played with the point of her springed stiletto. 'I can cut you with this.' She said.
'You already have.' He said, knowing full well her penchant for slicery. He had scars to prove it, both inside and out.
'How about another?' She asked. Beneath the cupid's bow of her top lip were a row of pearly incisors. They shone as she spoke. 'I think you'd like that.'
He shunned away. He imagined her as a bird-keeper adorned with vibrant feathers like a peacock, her eyes shrouded by a white mask inset with crushed diamonds. The lips of the mask had a single red mark down the middle, and the eyes of the mask were closed, shaded darkly, with a large yellow feather sticking out the top. The entire room was dark now, save for the low glimmer of gemstones built into the bulbous walls. She approached the cage and ran her fingers down the groves of the bars. He was bound of course, and made no attempt to avert his gaze from her half-naked body. Her arms were slim and toned, and somewhat tan. Her natural hair was black and parted, but the mask hid her dark tresses. She laughed a coy laugh, and slammed her fist down on top of the cage. The clamor it made ripped through his eardrums, causing a ringing sound.
She observed him like prey. 'Perhaps we can play another day.' She said, her face inches from the bars. 'But for now you shall stay.'
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