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Fishbowl
Fishbowl
Fishbowl
Ebook34 pages20 minutes

Fishbowl

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Mick Argall is making ends meet as a shop-window model by keeping quiet, standing in the background, and going unnoticed. He’s played that role for twenty-two years in his personal life as well, watching the world pass him by, remaining alone... until this holiday season, when a certain young man stops to take a good, close look, and makes Mick break out of his mold.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateDec 1, 2010
ISBN9781615817580
Fishbowl

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    Book preview

    Fishbowl - Dawn Kimberly Johnson

    Fishbowl

    AFTER finding his way to the freight elevator, exiting at the basement, and walking down a long, dark, lonely corridor, Mick knocked lightly—probably too lightly—on the third one down on your left, as a stock boy on the main floor had instructed. Mick waited, shifting from one foot to the other, but no invitation came. He knocked again, a bit louder this time, but still no response. He sighed, shoved the double doors open, and walked in.

    He heard music, hard, aggressive, and grating. The poor lighting made it difficult for him to navigate through the racks of clothing and piles of material and mannequin limbs hovering like sentries on either side of the doors. But eventually he stepped free of the encumbrances and into an oasis of light. It shone down from a high ceiling and onto a lone figure hunched over a sewing table.

    The sewing machine whirred and the young—woman’s?—hands moved quickly over the advancing material to keep up with the pull of the machine’s teeth. Her foot tapped to the beat coming out of a small pink iPod docking station.

    Hello? Mick said, stepping forward. He paused and looked up at the ceiling as the music and cavernous room swallowed his voice. His eyes fell back to the woman, and he cleared his throat, tuning himself up to raise his voice. Hello? It came out only a tiny bit louder than the first, and he frowned. He didn’t want to startle her, but he opened his mouth and drew a deep breath—

    The woman sat up straight, and her right hand shot out to pause the music. When she suddenly turned in her seat to look at him, Mick gulped back the shout before it passed his lips. Her rust-colored hair was parted into two playful, pigtails that hung to the bottom of each ear.

    Yeah?

    I’m… I’m—

    Lost? she asked, inclining her head and instantly bringing the image of Toffee, his

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