Gloryhole Xia ❲Tested & Working❳

She didn't know if the hole was a ghost, a god, or just a lonely person on the other side of a wall.

Xia blinked. Her eyes were wet. She hadn't cried in four years, not since her mother’s funeral.

The fluorescent lights of the "Sunset Mirage" laundromat flickered like dying fireflies. It was 2:17 AM, and Xia was the only soul in the place. She sat on a cracked plastic chair, watching her duvet tumble in dryer number four, when her eyes drifted to the back wall. gloryhole xia

"Who are you?" she asked the hole.

And for the first time in years, she thought: Maybe I have a story worth telling, too. She didn't know if the hole was a

Xia (a different Xia—her name meant "glow of dawn," though dawn felt years away) worked the night shift at a data-entry firm. Her life was a spreadsheet of repetitive tasks. She was terminally bored. And terminally curious.

The hole hummed back. Then, a new story flowed out: She hadn't cried in four years, not since

She pressed the plate.