TheFirmHand80
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2017
- Posts
- 1,088
[this is a story I started for my little cumcakes, but we forgot about it for a long time. PM if you would like to add to or participate in the story. I tend to think that my ending could use a little work 
]
The steam on the landing wisped and billowed. Elsie was the only passenger to deboard at the waypoint indicated on her manifest. Most of them had already returned home. They would be pulling the shades to; darkening electric lights and burrowing into security. But not Miss Kensington. Her home would be a place she had only seen in advertisement in Montgomery Ward’s.
She straightened her stockings and retrieved the letter from her parcel case, with a tired sigh.
“We are delighted to inform you of the conditions of your imminent matriculation…” began the script on the ornate business school letterhead, and she squinted at her intended destination in the thickening twilight.
She had never hailed a taxi before. In fact, she had never seen one before a few hours ago, as the scenery outside her coach changed from corn to cityscape. The wild familiar serenity of the countryside was slowly swallowed up by the muddy grey progress of Chicago's vastness.
She flattened out the folded, well worn paper and stepped to present it before a tired, haggard clerk behind the brass caged window. After a long empty glare, he barely lifted his eyes in the direction of the station map.
“Yeah, this is the right stop I figure,” he said, though Elsie thought he didn't seem like he spent much time figuring much of anything. He stabbed a greasy finger at the address and directed her several miles to the east along the main boulevard.
Everything felt cold and mechanical, imposing and impersonal. Here she was, little more than a girl, starting a new life hundreds of miles away.
Too coy to inquire more about the taxi, she slowly started walking toward her destination, all the while contemplating what had brought her here. She grew up in town where everyone knew everything about you. Nothing was private. She needed a new start. Her life back home had become routine.
Elsie gripped her cardigan close to her throat. Despite the evening warmth, she felt chilled by the feeling that anybody could be watching her from hundreds of windows, behind rubbish in shadowy alleys. They could see her young, vulnerable frame. Could they sense the apprehension in her eyes, the quiver of her lips, even her very blood?
“Don't be a foolish child,” she muttered to herself, “I am suitable unto the task.”
As if on cue, a fine tickling of raindrops caressed her cheeks, and she quickened her pace.
Several blocks over and seventeen stories above, Headmaster D______ watched the same warm misty rain obscure his pensive gaze out the office window. His eyes stretched along the grey spider’s web of pulsing roadways in all directions; so many stories, journeys, meanings and passions, never to be known.
They would be like the soft static flowing along with the melancholy jazz on the radio set, just another hum. Car lights slowed in the quickening precipitation; mechanical robots, crawling toward one or another dull beginning’s end. Their electric eyes flashed into a distant mesmerizing haze.
His spectre stared back, stern and sullen, dark eyes in empty reverie on the pane. His hands were clasped casually behind his back as he absentmindedly swayed on his polished brogues.
Then there was a big ‘ol giant splooge party
The End
]The steam on the landing wisped and billowed. Elsie was the only passenger to deboard at the waypoint indicated on her manifest. Most of them had already returned home. They would be pulling the shades to; darkening electric lights and burrowing into security. But not Miss Kensington. Her home would be a place she had only seen in advertisement in Montgomery Ward’s.
She straightened her stockings and retrieved the letter from her parcel case, with a tired sigh.
“We are delighted to inform you of the conditions of your imminent matriculation…” began the script on the ornate business school letterhead, and she squinted at her intended destination in the thickening twilight.
She had never hailed a taxi before. In fact, she had never seen one before a few hours ago, as the scenery outside her coach changed from corn to cityscape. The wild familiar serenity of the countryside was slowly swallowed up by the muddy grey progress of Chicago's vastness.
She flattened out the folded, well worn paper and stepped to present it before a tired, haggard clerk behind the brass caged window. After a long empty glare, he barely lifted his eyes in the direction of the station map.
“Yeah, this is the right stop I figure,” he said, though Elsie thought he didn't seem like he spent much time figuring much of anything. He stabbed a greasy finger at the address and directed her several miles to the east along the main boulevard.
Everything felt cold and mechanical, imposing and impersonal. Here she was, little more than a girl, starting a new life hundreds of miles away.
Too coy to inquire more about the taxi, she slowly started walking toward her destination, all the while contemplating what had brought her here. She grew up in town where everyone knew everything about you. Nothing was private. She needed a new start. Her life back home had become routine.
Elsie gripped her cardigan close to her throat. Despite the evening warmth, she felt chilled by the feeling that anybody could be watching her from hundreds of windows, behind rubbish in shadowy alleys. They could see her young, vulnerable frame. Could they sense the apprehension in her eyes, the quiver of her lips, even her very blood?
“Don't be a foolish child,” she muttered to herself, “I am suitable unto the task.”
As if on cue, a fine tickling of raindrops caressed her cheeks, and she quickened her pace.
Several blocks over and seventeen stories above, Headmaster D______ watched the same warm misty rain obscure his pensive gaze out the office window. His eyes stretched along the grey spider’s web of pulsing roadways in all directions; so many stories, journeys, meanings and passions, never to be known.
They would be like the soft static flowing along with the melancholy jazz on the radio set, just another hum. Car lights slowed in the quickening precipitation; mechanical robots, crawling toward one or another dull beginning’s end. Their electric eyes flashed into a distant mesmerizing haze.
His spectre stared back, stern and sullen, dark eyes in empty reverie on the pane. His hands were clasped casually behind his back as he absentmindedly swayed on his polished brogues.
Then there was a big ‘ol giant splooge party
The End
