Francis Mosses

Francis trudged up the rain-soaked stairs of his apartment building. Each step was a battle against exhaustion, his soaked clothes clinging to his weary body. When he reached the third-floor landing, he paused to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort.

The sound of raindrops hitting against the windows of the dimly lit hallway continued to echo. She could feel it seeping into her bones, a constant reminder of the gloomy weather outside. With a sigh of resignation, she fumbled for her keys, her fingers numb from the cold. Finally, she reached the door to her apartment. The familiar brass number glowed faintly in the dim light as she inserted the key into the lock and the door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit interior.

As Francis entered, a tired relief washed over him. He kicked off his soaked shoes and hung his soaked coat on the rack by the door. One hand ran through his disheveled hair to remove the water. The small, cozy apartment was furnished with disparate pieces collected over the years. The air smelled of old books and stale coffee. He made his way to the kitchen, the linoleum floor cool beneath his bare feet.

As she searched through the cupboards for a mug to warm her frozen hands, she found a chipped ceramic cup hidden behind dusty plates and then filled it with steaming water from the kettle.

Francis walked over to the worn leather chair in the corner of the room; sitting down and sinking into its familiar embrace. But as he settled in, he heard a faint knock at the door. “Hmm…” he muttered, reluctantly heading towards the noise; letting the door creak open.

“Hello...?” His voice was tense.