Fiction: The Door
Mar. 27th, 2005 07:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wolven7The Door
The door was open about a foot, just enough for the light from the hallway to come in and make the darkness of the bedroom even more pronounced. Was it just a bed room? There was no way to be sure. It felt like a bedroom, or the living room of a studio apartment, or the main floor of a warehouse, and the light showed the hallway, and the sound came in, through the open door.
People were walking past. Across the hallway, there was a wall, and there was carpet, out there, in the light, and the wall had a bulletin board, but the messages were too far away to read. People didn't look in the door, didn't stop to wonder why it was ajar, creaking lightly. From the outside, the door had to look into blackness; one swath of light cut across what must look like an infinite field of dark. Or maybe they couldn't see it at all. But they were talking, laughing, going about their days, with bags, with coats, in suits and ties, and that woman was wearing a ball gown. 1950s, Audrey Hepburn; god she was beautiful.
What time of day was it? There was no way to know. The door opened into a brightly lit flourescent glare, and the room had no windows. Or maybe they were painted over. Either way, no light could get in, and that was disorienting. There was no way to know when to sleep, to breathe, to eat, to come, silently. When would it be time to go?
He came back, one day. He walked through the door, careful not to touch it, or the doorjamb. He stood in the light for a few seconds, staring. Somehow the light caught his eyes just enough to make them glint into the dark, and he shuffled to his left, before walking, hesitantly, forward. He was afraid of the room.
He screamed. He railed questions, demanded answers, and when they weren't what he wanted, he would scream "Shut Up!" at the top of his lungs. No one ever looked in the door.
There was never any food. There was no water, no juice, no airflow. There was only light and darkness, sound and silence.
She came back. She pleaded and begged. She asked, and she was reduced to tears, though nothing would ease her pain. She wanted to know, so badly, and there was nothing to know. There was everything. Maybe she simply didn't know how to ask.
They brought a mirror, finally. They brought it, together, and they tried very hard not to look at each other, as they held the sides, and walked it in. It was awkward, and heavy, and the corner collided with the door, and the frame. The ringing went on for about 20 seconds, high pitched and keening. They took their hands from their heads, and continued, more carefully, to the centre of the room. They walked over, and set it down, and, at last, they asked correctly.
The infinite picture curved back on itself, gently, forming a horizon line. The door stood open about a foot, just enough to let in a shaft light, from the hall, and somewhere, in the distance, it was closing, and opening more.
The door was open about a foot, just enough for the light from the hallway to come in and make the darkness of the bedroom even more pronounced. Was it just a bed room? There was no way to be sure. It felt like a bedroom, or the living room of a studio apartment, or the main floor of a warehouse, and the light showed the hallway, and the sound came in, through the open door.
People were walking past. Across the hallway, there was a wall, and there was carpet, out there, in the light, and the wall had a bulletin board, but the messages were too far away to read. People didn't look in the door, didn't stop to wonder why it was ajar, creaking lightly. From the outside, the door had to look into blackness; one swath of light cut across what must look like an infinite field of dark. Or maybe they couldn't see it at all. But they were talking, laughing, going about their days, with bags, with coats, in suits and ties, and that woman was wearing a ball gown. 1950s, Audrey Hepburn; god she was beautiful.
What time of day was it? There was no way to know. The door opened into a brightly lit flourescent glare, and the room had no windows. Or maybe they were painted over. Either way, no light could get in, and that was disorienting. There was no way to know when to sleep, to breathe, to eat, to come, silently. When would it be time to go?
He came back, one day. He walked through the door, careful not to touch it, or the doorjamb. He stood in the light for a few seconds, staring. Somehow the light caught his eyes just enough to make them glint into the dark, and he shuffled to his left, before walking, hesitantly, forward. He was afraid of the room.
He screamed. He railed questions, demanded answers, and when they weren't what he wanted, he would scream "Shut Up!" at the top of his lungs. No one ever looked in the door.
There was never any food. There was no water, no juice, no airflow. There was only light and darkness, sound and silence.
She came back. She pleaded and begged. She asked, and she was reduced to tears, though nothing would ease her pain. She wanted to know, so badly, and there was nothing to know. There was everything. Maybe she simply didn't know how to ask.
They brought a mirror, finally. They brought it, together, and they tried very hard not to look at each other, as they held the sides, and walked it in. It was awkward, and heavy, and the corner collided with the door, and the frame. The ringing went on for about 20 seconds, high pitched and keening. They took their hands from their heads, and continued, more carefully, to the centre of the room. They walked over, and set it down, and, at last, they asked correctly.
The infinite picture curved back on itself, gently, forming a horizon line. The door stood open about a foot, just enough to let in a shaft light, from the hall, and somewhere, in the distance, it was closing, and opening more.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-03-28 01:10 am (UTC)no subject