Narrator: Donna K. | Liverpool, England
I cleaned a shopping centre before opening. There was a triangular gap under one escalator, fenced off so children couldn’t get into it. A person had been sleeping there, or that was what I thought when I saw the shoes.
Black work shoes. Gray trousers. Knees drawn up towards a chest I couldn’t see.
I called security. While I waited, I crouched to ask if the person was all right. The shoes turned towards me. So did the knees. The rest of the shape stayed where it was, squeezed into a space that seemed too shallow for an adult.
There was a noise like somebody trying to clear a throat without opening their mouth.
The guard arrived. I was standing so far away he initially went to the wrong place. He shone his torch in and found a pair of discarded shoes, side by side. No trousers. No person.
I know the explanation. I made a body out of shadows. I have repeated that explanation to myself for six years. It doesn’t account for the knees turning, but it’s the explanation I can live with.
