Their solace was then interrupted by a knocking at the door. Sylvia didn’t hesitate for a second to answer wearing nothing but her undergarments. The hotel attendant at the door was as shocked as Athen to see her standing there, even in near total darkness, with the door wide open.
“Ma’am,” he said, “We are passing out candles for your inconvenience. We hope the power will return shortly.”
“Can we have two, please?” she said. “This room really calls for two candles, don’t you think?”
“Well, yes, ma’am. I suppose.”right now at this very momentSounds take on a different texture. They seem richer and more varied. The wail of a police siren was deafening when it cut across a conversation; now it interrupts my thoughts pleasantly, as a logical punctuation to my train of thought. I listen to the siren pass, then carefully step back into my thoughts. The bark of a dog, the rustle of the trees, the squick of my wet trainers on the pavement: all these things are the soundtrack to the world, which human conversation does nothing but drown out. Words do not add anything useful.on losing my voice for a fortnightThis was high-end accommodation. He had had no idea. He had paid a lot of money but that was to be expected, given that the company had bought exclusive rights to the mountain. He had been confused by all the information. He'd thought you had to stay two nights - the night before the climb, and the night mid-climb.
“And the other guest has arrived, sir?”
“Your fellow guest, sir? Your companion?”
“What do you mean? It's only me.”mountain lodges•A Journal of Quality Short Fiction From Australia and Beyond•Contents