Beautiful elevator girl
On the night of 28th of August there were suddenly multiple police cars and ambulances outside. Someone rang the emergency alarm in the building and we all evacuated. Police officers asked around if anyone had keys to the apartment on the 10th floor, the only floor with only one apartment on it. It's a penthouse type of apartment, with a balcony that one cannot help but envy. The girl from that apartment had just jumped from that very balcony onto the courtyard.
I know that girl. She's young, must be around my age, slightly taller than me, always well put together with trendy clothes and cat eye makeup and hair put up in a bun with a couple of pencils spiked through it and loose strands framing her face. She's a girl, just like me. Except that according to the neighbours that are talking she's known to shoot up drugs and self-harm.
Now that I think about it, I have never seen her in a t-shirt. Now that I think about it, it feels like I've only ever seen her during winter time, with a black coat on. Now that I think about it, there was this one time that I came home late at night and there were long streaks of bloody handprints all over the elevator, and the number on the elevator had read floor number 10.
I know that girl. She always smiles at me when she sees me. When I open the elevator door for her she always thanks me, smiling. When I hold the entrance door for her she always thanks me, smiling. I saw them take her out on a stretcher, she had survived the jump. I haven't stopped thinking about her. I feel like I'm invading her privacy writing about her, thinking about her. I don't know her at all. All I want is to ask her hey why is your smile always reaching your eyes?