Climbing

She stood at the bottom of the staircase, looking up.

On hand rested on the time-worn wooden banister, and she lifted a foot to rest on the first step. “Click!” her heel made a startling sound that echoed up the walls, and she quickly pulled her foot back down and toed off her black stilettos, kicking them aside. She took a step up; the wood tread was slippery under her stockings. Another step, and she paused to contemplate the paintings that hung on the wall, seeming to climb alongside her. Each was a portrait of a woman: some young, some old. Each from a different era; each representing different races… different nationalities. Each one different, yet with the same deterined look on her face; each standing tall and looking fearless. The Grandfather clock ticked at her from the top of the stairs, and she heard the creak of the floorboards above her; someone was up there ahead of her. Heart pounding, she lifted her foot to climb another step, but instead turned, and nearly falling she almost jumped back down to the bottom floor again. She sat on the bottom step and cried softly into her palms. After a few minutes she wiped her tears away, slipped her stockinged feet back into her heels, and crossed the long hallway back to the kitchen.