Plucking Petals.

"Housekeeping!" Came the knock at the door.

"Housekeeeeeping!!!" The mandatory second knock, followed by the practiced opening of the hotel door with the master key-card.

Betty was your average Hotel Worker, mid to late 30's, a passion for cigarettes and a distinct distaste for her job. Today was going to be another notch in her totem pole of hotel work oddities.

Picking up clothes in the entrance area, Betty got on with her routine as she typically did, a thousand times over. There was a damp smell on air inside the penthouse room, the aircon's probably need some regassing again.

The Royal Beagle Hotel, your average hotel (with all those appealing extras like Chocolates-on-your-pillows) was situated in downtown Manhattan. Prices were good for such a neighbourhood, so the clientele was volumnous and recyclable.

"Hmm, this is the second time this week I'm picking up flower vases again, what is with these people!" Betty muttered to herself as she brushed all the pottery pieces into her hungry and awaiting tray. The flowers lay lifeless, still pretty, but with no glow.

Betty made her way to the master bedroom, a place she used countless times as the basis for wealthy marriage to that someone special. The double arch doors were almost latched closed, a sliver of light separating the two in half. Betty put her weight into the door but hit her right arm and shoulder against the now stuck door. With a hefty push, the door flung open.

Nerves went cold and useless. Muscles relaxed in Betty's left hand, releasing the air freshener can and the cleaning cloth. The can rattled off the marble floor with a sound that startled its former owner. Betty let out the scream like her own life depended on it.