He climbed each stair to the twenty-fifth floor every Thursday, not because he had to, but because he chose to. He viewed the weekly climb as penance for all the terrible things he’d done or would end up doing the rest of the week, mostly being the prick that he always seemed to be. He didn’t care much for people–hated living in the overcrowded city, but couldn’t bring himself to leave. The city he loved. It was the people that ruined the place. One step at a time he made up for every nasty comment he made that week.
I’m not sure how I feel about this one, but at the moment it’s the only thing I’ve got so it’ll have to do. Maybe I’ll give it another go later, but maybe not.
Written for Friday Fictioneers.
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