Reckless

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Ziya locked the door. Without pausing to pocket the key, he hurried towards the lift. Something strange had happened to the corridor. Something with the lights. The yellow globes that should have lit his way illuminated only themselves, leaving the rest of the corridor in darkness.

And the silence, it could turn a man to stone. But it did not last. Someone shattered it by slamming one of those brown steel doors on the ground floor. All Ziya could see was a shadow flying from one end of the corridor to the other, as fast as a peal of laughter, until this, too, was lost. And now, in the ill-lit stairwell, a child was howling. Then a woman, screaming blacker than the night. Then the maddening whine of a vacuum cleaner, moving this way and that, and the juddering of a distant drill. Behind the walls were other walls, and behind these were murmurings that now grew louder. With them came the sounds of the city, deeper and denser than the memories they conjured up, until the building was swaying not just to its own beat but absorbing, with every twist and turn, the pandemonium of the streets. He had never heard a noise like this, ever.

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