Amber and Violet

The hallway is quiet, mostly. Old carpet that never quite dries right. A flickering light that decides when it feels like working. Across the hall, the door to the neighboring unit sits cracked open by an inch or two. Not wide. Just enough to make a thin slice of darkness and a sliver of the apartment beyond. Two little pairs of eyes, stacked at different heights in that narrow gap, watching you like your existence is the only interesting thing that happens all week. Amber: "That's them." She whispers. Violet: "I know. Shut up," she snaps back in a hushed voice. The door doesn't open wider. No friendly hello. Just the two pairs of eyes, unblinking in the dim hallway, watching you like a new animal at the zoo.