Although the early autumn night was a bit chilly, Helga Pataki didn't feel
the need to turn on the furnace in the house. Instead, she pulled the
maroon quilted chenille throw off of her bed and carried it downstairs with
her. The house was quiet and peaceful, a perfect night to settle down with
the thick novel she was halfway through. The necessity of snuggling up
under a soft blanket to keep warm only made the atmosphere even cozier.
Helga truly didn't mind that she was spending a beautiful Friday night indoors with her book while most single females her age would be out partying somewhere. She worked an unexciting job at a local bookstore, and in her spare time both read the books she could receive on discount and wrote pieces of her own. The written word was her passion. In college, she had studied literature and creative writing, but afterwards wasn't sure what to do with her life. She could become a professional writer, if luck was with her, or could have pursued a career in teaching English, if she had a mind too. But she still felt young, with plenty of life ahead of her, so she was content to sit back for awhile and see what opportunities would come to her before seeking them herself.
In fact, she hadn't even really moved out of her childhood home. She returned home after college, not because she missed it much, but because it seemed the best place to live at the time. After all, her parents were moving out and she had begged them to allow her to continue living there. She paid rent to her father, who, along with her mother, now lived in California. She was happy with the arrangement though. She got to live alone in a familiar place with a comfortable job to support her and plenty of free time to write poetry and stories. It was unexciting, but she didn't mind.
This night, she felt like staying up late with her newest book, the latest novel in a science fiction series she had fallen in love with. She had curled up in a comfortable armchair with the blanket wrapped around her legs and lost herself in the story. She found enough excitement to live on in the plots of her books, and was content.
Suddenly, Helga was pulled out of the fantasy by the ringing of her doorbell. In the stillness of the late night, nearly the wee hours of the morning, the sound seemed deafeningly loud. She very quietly set the book down and carefully crept into the hallway, towards the door. She was a bit scared, wondering who could possibly be out this late in this normally quiet neighborhood, let alone who would need to visit her at this hour. So she reached for a conveniently placed baseball bat on her way, prepared for anything. She might have smiled fondly over the memories of her childhood associated with that familiar bat, if her mind wasn't concentrated on the situation. Right now, she was only happy that over the years she had also visited the gym regularly, keeping up with several martial arts. Even though she was a bit nervous about opening the door to see who was there, she at least felt safe with her own strength.
She only thought she was prepared for anything before she opened the door and the light of her reading lamps illuminated the sight on her doorstep. The dirt of long travel and the gauntness of fatigue and near-starvation couldn't disguise the unique shape of that very familiar face that squinted up at her. Any thought of using her bat or her body as a weapon vanished as she let out a surprised gasp. But then the crouched figure collapsed across the threshold of her door, and she was at a total loss for what to do.
Helga truly didn't mind that she was spending a beautiful Friday night indoors with her book while most single females her age would be out partying somewhere. She worked an unexciting job at a local bookstore, and in her spare time both read the books she could receive on discount and wrote pieces of her own. The written word was her passion. In college, she had studied literature and creative writing, but afterwards wasn't sure what to do with her life. She could become a professional writer, if luck was with her, or could have pursued a career in teaching English, if she had a mind too. But she still felt young, with plenty of life ahead of her, so she was content to sit back for awhile and see what opportunities would come to her before seeking them herself.
In fact, she hadn't even really moved out of her childhood home. She returned home after college, not because she missed it much, but because it seemed the best place to live at the time. After all, her parents were moving out and she had begged them to allow her to continue living there. She paid rent to her father, who, along with her mother, now lived in California. She was happy with the arrangement though. She got to live alone in a familiar place with a comfortable job to support her and plenty of free time to write poetry and stories. It was unexciting, but she didn't mind.
This night, she felt like staying up late with her newest book, the latest novel in a science fiction series she had fallen in love with. She had curled up in a comfortable armchair with the blanket wrapped around her legs and lost herself in the story. She found enough excitement to live on in the plots of her books, and was content.
Suddenly, Helga was pulled out of the fantasy by the ringing of her doorbell. In the stillness of the late night, nearly the wee hours of the morning, the sound seemed deafeningly loud. She very quietly set the book down and carefully crept into the hallway, towards the door. She was a bit scared, wondering who could possibly be out this late in this normally quiet neighborhood, let alone who would need to visit her at this hour. So she reached for a conveniently placed baseball bat on her way, prepared for anything. She might have smiled fondly over the memories of her childhood associated with that familiar bat, if her mind wasn't concentrated on the situation. Right now, she was only happy that over the years she had also visited the gym regularly, keeping up with several martial arts. Even though she was a bit nervous about opening the door to see who was there, she at least felt safe with her own strength.
She only thought she was prepared for anything before she opened the door and the light of her reading lamps illuminated the sight on her doorstep. The dirt of long travel and the gauntness of fatigue and near-starvation couldn't disguise the unique shape of that very familiar face that squinted up at her. Any thought of using her bat or her body as a weapon vanished as she let out a surprised gasp. But then the crouched figure collapsed across the threshold of her door, and she was at a total loss for what to do.
