Looking up, he saw the girl half-open a window on the sixth floor, squeeze through it and walk down the wall to the street.
“The party was a bust,” she explained.
Her voice was flat, thin, a little nasal. He wondered if that was caused by her having walked down the wall. Resistance to gravity must surely have an effect on the nasal passages. She was extraordinarily pale under the streetlights.
“Do you need special shoes to do that?” he asked.
“Do what?” She walked with an easy stride that seemed to cover inordinate amounts of space. He had to run to keep up with her. They were already half-way across town.
“It happens every time, doesn’t it?” she sighed. “You go to a party, full of hope. Will this be – finally – the party where someone actually wants to talk to you? That someone might think, hm, this girl looks interesting, maybe I should check her out?”
If he’d had any sense he’d have stopped and let her go. And yet – a girl like that, who could walk down walls? How could he let her go?
“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I don’t need everyone to find me interesting. Just one single solitary person.”
“Did you take classes or were you born able to do it?” he panted.
“Do what?” she asked.
“What’s the highest wall you’ve ever walked down? Fourteen storeys? Thirty? Eighty-five?”
“Even a ‘hello there’ would be nice.” she said. “They don’t have to talk for long. I don’t think that’s asking for too much, is it?”
They were approaching the dark woods at the edge of town. The streetlights, the squeal of tires, the barking dogs, the ambulance sirens all faded away.
Only the thudding of his footsteps (hers were silent) and his panting breath.
“Have you ever fallen?”
“Oh well,” she said. “There’s another party next week. Maybe I’ll have better luck then.”
Walking Down Walls was inspired by The Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge: Looking Up.
The photo is of a performer with Bristol’s Invisible Circus.
Please note that all material on this site, except for comments by others, is ©Susi Lovell.