Disadvantages Of Climbing Stairs の小説・ストーリー

I put an earpod into my ears to listen to some calming Maggie rogers song so that I don't do anything that would hurt my mental health. The ride to the Garcia can to an end and half way through I found myself restless that I couldn't help but jump out of the SUV and walk briskly to the front door and swing it open. I ignored the maids greeting because I could and because I had something important to do. "Ace!!" I screamed looking at the spiral stares that led to the second floor but I was less concerned and not looking forward to climbing them. There was always the worst part of living in this goddamn mansion, having to climb 7-9 stairs for goddamn sake when it was just the next floor.

, I laughed as I read Flynn's message, keeping a packet of bullets and my wallet in a small bag, before locking the door and rushing down to meet him. One of the advantages of the building in which I lived was the lack of stairs, and the use of ramps. The way my legs trembled, I doubted that I could go down or climb any step without staggering. And the biggest advantage of being on the first floor was that I just needed to open the door in the long corridor between the apartments, completely ignoring the existence of the elevator, go down a ramp and then get to the entrance gate.

I said. He just nodded and I hurried out. And since there is no elevator available yet because everything is all uphill, I just went up the stairs, I tried to call my husband but he is not answering. What I did is I just use the stairs. And because I was in such a hurry I didn't notice the wet floor on the stairs causing me to slip and completely fall. And because the stairs were high, my vision suddenly became blurred, but before I lost consciousness I heard a voice.

Spontaneous challenges between classmates—I was always faster than they expected a girl like me to be. Seven flights of stairs? That was nothing but a warm-up. I’d climbed worse. I also stepped out of my heels, picked them up in one hand, while the other hand took my bag from the lady. Then I gave Mr. Walter a look that I hoped communicated both ‘I’ll be fine’ and ‘please don’t have a cardiac event on the stairs,’ and then I found the stairwell door and ran. Seven floors. I took them in a rhythm, breathing through it, my bare feet finding each step with the memory that had apparently survived eight years of a marriage that had tried very hard to make me forget what I was capable of.

"You look strange in my body." "Do I?" "You look like you're wearing something that doesn't quite fit. Not badly — just. My body moves differently than you move. You're holding it like you're not sure of the weight distribution." "Your center of gravity is lower than mine," Cassian said. "I keep overcorrecting." He took a step to demonstrate, which was slightly more cautious than Adrian's usual stride. "I understand now why you have trouble on stairs when you're tired." "I don't have trouble on stairs—"

I find the will from deep down. Climbing is slow and painful, with burning muscles, awkward reaches, and sore fingers, given it's not meant to be a staircase. I suck at any kind of climbing. Turning awkwardly, finding my footing badly when I slip and my already injured ankle slides through a gap between the wall and the root, causing a sideways scuff and almost bending at a ninety-degree angle, and I drop a foot. Yelping out in the process.

"And your grandparents are getting old now. Plus, you're incredibly unlucky." I roll my eyes. The first house we lived in together didn’t have any stairs—not even a single step at the entrance since it was a small apartment. Practically heaven for him. But then we wanted a little house, and now we’ve got porch steps and an internal staircase. Every time he has to go down, he prays. He’s so dramatic. He’s only fallen twice so far... and we’ve been fully moved in for just a week. "The old house was too small to host both of our families. Here, everyone fits. And don’t worry about my grandparents; they’ll outlive us all, one after the other." I roll my eyes again. Alcohol hasn’t killed them; st

Carter was up there alone, naked and marked and his, smelling like sex and submission and everything Dallas had been craving for seven goddamn years. His footsteps echoed through the grand hall as he descended the sweeping staircase, each step taking him further from where he needed to be. There were far too many stairs that made walking around the mansion an inefficient task. If he were to come home from a long day of pack duties to find his lover in their shared bedroom, then he did not want to waste precious time walking up a million stairs. And besides that, stairs like this were a safety hazard for young children and would be difficult for a pregnant person to walk down.

"How do you know he took the stairs?" "Because Delia, his assistant, is a lovely girl, very chatty once you give her a compliment about her shoes, mentioned it in passing when I ran into her at the coffee station this morning." Imara picked her fork back up. "He took the stairs both days. A man who runs a fourteen billion dollar company and has an office on the fourteenth floor is walking down fourteen flights of stairs twice a day. That is not fitness. That is avoidance." "Or he likes stairs."

Therefore, she speculated that the twenty-first floor was likely somewhere in the middle. Stuck between going up or down, Melanie hesitated. She didn't want to go up because higher floors were less grounded and posed a higher risk of uncontrollable dangers, such as fires or falling off the rooftop. However, going down to the twenty-first floor using the stairs seemed daunting. Cyrus was almost eighty years old, and she didn’t expect him to have the stamina to run down all those flights of stairs without getting caught. With these thoughts in mind, Melanie abruptly stopped and grabbed Cyrus.