Apartment 204

I’m in apartment 104. Above me is 204. They are pretty quiet people for apartment dwellers – I don’t hear too much from up there. But just now I heard a lot of noise and crashing and thumping. I’m standing in my kitchen trying to decide if I should go up there, call the police, or do nothing.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “apartment 204.”

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

8 thoughts on “Apartment 204”

  1. As I contemplate my options I have a feeling of overwhelming doom. Whatever I do, I will become involved in their lives. My actions will affect our futures. We are still enigmas to each other. We smile and nod when we meet in the hall. But, should I get involved?

  2. “Did you SEE the people moving into apartment 204?” my sister half asked, half yelped, this morning.

    We’ve taken apartment 104 for the summer, a set of poolside rooms at a Myrtle Beach condo complex.

    “Well no, I didn’t see them. Why?”

    They have CHILDREN,” she griped, “I didn’t come here on vacation to be kept awake by crying children.”

    “Well we’re paid up through August, we can’t just leave.”

  3. Carla stood with key in hand in front of the door to the apartment she wanted to rent. The number 204 was engraved on a brass plaque above the peephole. The building looked clean and well maintained. It was early afternoon, but when she entered the small square foyer that led to the living room on its left, it looked like night had already descended on the city. She knew she would have to call the electric company to have the utility services turned on.

    She went over to the one window in the living room and opened the shade. The room was instantly illuminated by sunshine. She went into the kitchen, then passed a narrow hallway finding the bathroom to her right and finally the bedroom where she opened the shades and allowed the daylight to light the room. The apartment was a railroad-style apartment, small but bright, and she thought, Good enough for me.

  4. Barbara always thought back to Apartment 204. She was in her seventies now and for the first time really beginning to feel as if she was old. It seemed as if she spent more and more time going back in time. All sorts of memories would pop into her head. Many familiar faces would appear in her dreams at night. One of her favorite memories was of Apartment 204 which she rented when she moved out to the west coast to live alone for the first time ever. Away from her old neighborhood. Away from her friends and family. Barbara found a secretarial job very quickly out in LA. She also found it easy to buy interesting looking used furniture and odd pieces to decorate her apartment. What she recalled most fondly was the first affair she had. It was with a married executive at the movie studio where she worked. They would use Apartment 204 for their assignations. It was her first little love nest. Apartment 204 wouldn’t be her last.

  5. HAIKU:S
    The one with the view.
    That’s apartment 204;.
    sunrise over lake.

    The one with the view?
    That’s apartment 204.
    Garbage dump reeks!

    This one with the view,
    apartment 204? Oh,
    way too expensive..

    The one with the view.
    Apartment 204. See.
    I love. We love. Yes.

    The one with the view,
    apartment 204. Done!
    Fifty words and more…

  6. Her name was Mary. She was a frail woman approaching 80 years. Recently widowed she was living with her daughter and son-in-law. Secretly she longed for a place

    1. longed for a place of her own. Very close by ground was being broken for a new senior development. Mary went to inquire. All the apartments were taken except she was told apartment 204. ” I’ll take it,” she said.

  7. What turned out to be the most interesting of all of grandpa’s stored treasures in those rotted cardboard boxes in the barn loft was a rectangular metal sign with faint remnants of writing etched on what was once the painted side. By good fortune, I was helping grandpa catalogue them rather than seeing them in a post-mortem inventory.

    “Why’d you keep this?” I asked, not really expecting a reply. The man was nearly deaf and refused to wear his hearing aids.

    But this he did hear.

    “I’ll tell you, and only you, and that’s only because you are following me into the surprising world of anthropology,” he replied. “You probably won’t tell anyone else.”

    He settled himself and captured my eyes with a glare akin to that of a cat eyeing a mouse.

    “Do you remember that my father, your great-grandfather, spent most of his adult life in the old county insane asylum?”

    “Yes,” I replied, a bit nervous that my innocent question touched on a family shame rarely discussed.

    “I travelled with him sometimes,” my grandpa said. “We were on a dig at Dakkar, a small village outside of the ancient city of Catal-Hayuk.”

    “Dad pointed to something with a very geometric shape. After he carefully extracted it and brushed it off, he whispered something to a nearby digger. In a flash they were arguing. Dad flew into a rage and in moments, set to gibbering. He never was right again. They carried him away from that spot and I never saw him again outside of Summerset County Home for the Feeble-Minded.”

    That was more of the story than I’d ever heard, and I’m a close listener at family gatherings.

    He continued: “I was crying as they restrained him and started to carry him away. When they were over the rise, I looked down and saw the thing he’d been holding.”

    Grandpa held back a remembered tear, paused briefly, and then finished:

    “I heard dad cackling over the rise and, after considering the potential consequences of sharing this odd artifact, I shoved that thing into my pack. I never said a word about it to anybody and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t either.”

    I brushed it off, rubbed it against my bluejeaned-butt to remove some of the built up crud. After several passes at trying to clean it, I held it up and looked at the etchings from an angle. It said:

    “Apartment 204 – Captain Nemo”

    ————–

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