short fiction · 2026-10-31

Mara's Keys

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

Mara counts the doors by the weight of her keys. First floor: Mrs. Chen's brass peephole, cold against her knuckles when she forgets and knocks. Second: Mr. Varela's apartment, where the pipes carry her footsteps like a confession — she walks softer now, heels to toes, a habit learned from no one. Third: the girl with the keyhole eye, who knows Mara buys oat milk on Tuesdays and cries into it on Thursdays. Fourth floor is hers, the lock sticky in November, smooth by April. She has never met any of them. The building holds its breath between floors, and she is the only thing moving through it.