moss
Rich, chocolate coloured oak stretches from floor to ceiling blanketing the walls with intimidating darkness. It meets pistachio coloured carpets that blanket the hallways and stretch down corridors, starting to brown from cigarette smoke that spent decades licking every corner of this room. A powder lemon lamp shade lies abandoned on the floor protecting a worn out light bulb; no one around to pick it up and set it right. The skylight, offering the only sign of life outside, hangs dominant above peach coloured love seats barren of the thing which gives them their name. What happened here?
The smell of lavender and hairspray engulf the lungs that breathe little life into this room. Plum and rose tiles embellish all four walls and a tissue lies used and neglected on the floor, blotted with lipstick and tear stained. Leather curls from the seat it belongs to, having been stabbed with stilettos revealing mustard, ripped foam underneath. Whispers of, “Did you hear what she did?” snake underneath toilet stalls and around bright white porcelain. So much time spent in here crying, gossiping, cursing his name. Scratches of red nail varnish scar the basin, once seized amid a jealous rage, did you see him with her? The tap drips a cold, unclean water to heal its wounds but only offers an empty echo that bounces through plugholes into the building’s body. Screams and cries born from an animalistic fit of rage vibrate through the wood and shatter the mirrors that reflect her mistakes. Encumbered by heartbreak she sinks to the floor, the powdery must of the lifted carpet swallowing her whole.
Warped reflections can be caught in the glass bricks that separate function rooms from reception desks, though this room serves no function anymore. A plastic telephone hangs lifelessly from its wire still swaying slightly though no breeze can be felt, the tone of the receiver humming, waiting for its caller. Autumn leaves crawl cautiously through steel revolving doors. Solitude lingers stale like a bitter taste in these walls and framed portraits hang on peeling wallpaper, seduced from the plaster by swirling cigarette smoke, and still I ask, what happened here?
moss