Distorted.

The sound of a bell, innately reminding me of my childhood, perpetuated along the side of the entrance. Unnerving, intimidating, daunting. Towering over my head were several ornaments, petrified into the corpse of the structure. The ringing persisted once again. As though embedded into the hotel's walls, a bellboy, smoking a damp cigarette, eyed my clothes, shifted to my shoes, and then back at my clothes. He coughed slightly when he noticed my suitcase. Ragged, torn into, almost ripped into shreds; and yet I still carried them with me. I drifted past him, feeling his gaze corrode the dents that lay along my skull. He didn’t say a word. Yet his silence spoke louder than his gaze.

The edges of the glass-stained door cut into my skin as I entered the hotel. On the concierge’s desk, a note was barely visible, depleting in the agonizing monotony. He was out for the evening. The absurdity of the night had begun to sink in. I could hear the hissing of the lined group standing in front of me. The herd mentality had never been more defined. Monstrous figures in cashmere linings with bulging eyes and clammy hands; every single one of them was the same, and every single one of them was waiting in this line. For every client that the receptionist cleared in front of me, three more gathered behind. It seemed as though anorexia was commonly spread throughout this crowd, and pearls appeared to be the perfect accessory to match this look. With well-designed dresses and hand-weaved sunhats, I seemed to be the only person to notice the deformity of their smiles. They stretched out widely, ripping through their skins, divulging the enormity of iridescent canines or the daunting sharpness of their incisors. I could see the blood drool out of their mouths, for greed was nothing but a sin and humbleness was nothing if not inexistent to them. Their nostrils flared at the sound of their voices, intoxicated by their narcissism. Their hands turned into claws, skinny veins elongating, as they pulled out black cards which paid for tedious gains. They were nothing but animals; wealthy, luxurious predators, disguised in pounds of powdered chemicals which they called makeup. Snarling charmingly goodbye, the receptionist called the next in line; me. Crazed in the concept of the bourgeoise and the preeminent lifestyle, the man who stood in front of me was now nothing but a reflection of his clients. His smile faded, his eyes narrowed and his nose scrunched at my sight. Might as well have asked who let me in a hotel of such prestige. He yawned, looking behind me at the crowd which had gathered. Bluntly diverting from my appearance, the voice came out quite feminine, 

“Name?” 

The man standing before me did not know me, and neither did the bellboy out front or the concierge. But I knew them, because, unlike the guests at this hotel, I knew the names of all of my employees, even new, incompetent and delusional ones.

V.L.