Ficlets

Footsteps progressed silently through the miniature labyrinth hallways. These walkways are numerous, and short. Why do they even bother with corridors? Through the three-second passage my mind considers that perhaps these hallways are brief interludes or even the demure party host that introduces me to the next room.

Finally, my walking makes a sound. The floorboard creaks from my presence. The unarmed security officer eyes me speculatively, I consider her likewise. What will this lady in her golden years really be able to do to stop me from scratching the scratch-n-sniff Rembrandt? My lip smirks unnoticed, and I proceed in the brightened room as if the newest invite to the dream sequence, which is always too bright for emphasis.