Barcelona Businesswoman by Leslie Richard Jacobs via gcoldironjr2003
Slowly, painfully, I sit up. It takes far more effort than it should do: I feel like I’ve been pounded with hammers.
The woman is standing in the doorway of Room 25, the one that should have had the filter salesman in it. She’s quite tall, with a shock of dark hair that might be stylishly messy, and might mean she was just lying down. She’s smartly dressed though, in a well-cut business suit — trousers, not skirts — over a blue blouse. Her face suggests character, but at the moment she mainly looks concerned.
She fidgets irritably as I stare at her. Then our eyes meet, and she gasps again. “Your eyes! What happened?”
I blink. “What?”
“Oh.” She blushes. “I’m sorry. I should know better by now. Please, just ignore me. How are you feeling? Is everything OK?”
“Wait. What’s wrong with my eyes?”
“It’s nothing. I just haven’t seen eyes that colour before. Do you want a hand up?”
I glance at my clog, and then back at the woman, and ...
- ... struggle to my feet, then push past her urgently to find a mirror. (47%)
- ... say "You haven't seen brown eyes before?" (35%)
- ... say "What the hell is going on?" (12%)
- ... say "Are you with Bill Nolan?" (6%)
- ... say "No thanks, I can manage." (0%)
Voting Closes at: August 7, 2009 @ 12:00 pm
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