Training Night

by Joshua Corbeil-Stoodley

Gloria Jones sat at the table in the dining room of the centre-north brownstone house in the six-brownstone compound known as Sanctuary. The dining room itself was a rectangular shaped room, with its short north wall decorated by pictures of childish monsters that had, fittingly enough, been drawn by children. Opposite the improvised art gallery was an entry way cut into the south wall that led into a corridor. The hallway’s south wall held a bank of elevators; on the other side of the elevators were entries into the commons room. The west wall of the dining room was a solid sheet of African Blackwood. Rivers of silver had been carved into the wall in a dizzying array of geometric shapes. Situated at each of the corners of the west wall were two massive cabinets painted the same colour as the wall; one for china and silver, the other for wine glasses. The dining room was separated from the kitchen by a sort of half-wall on its eastern side that stopped just short of the south wall, leaving a gap that became an entry point for both kitchen and dining room. Along the dining room side of the eastern wall were cabinets for dishes and utensils. Covering the floor of the dining room was a thick black plush carpet that the cleaning team cursed at every time they were forced to clean the dining room and on the ceiling, which had been painted the same monochromatic scheme as the rest of the room, hung a chandelier made of wrought iron.

Gloria, for her part, sat at the table, whose colour should be obvious by now, thoroughly engrossed in a thick, hardcover book. What she was supposed to be doing was eating breakfast, and indeed, there was a bowl of cornflakes suitably drenched in milk languishing beside her. The book, it seemed, was more interesting, and Gloria had not had one bite of her cereal since she had made the bowl earlier this evening. Continue reading →