Five Doors
Suddenly the door heated. I stepped away just in time as it exploded,
revealing a darkened, ashened kitchen. I knew what it was. I did not
enter. I had seen their faces once, and once was enough. Door number
two holds something all together more gruesome and realistic. I saw my
wife. Before she was my wife. When she walked the shoes of a girl. She
was wearing a light yellow dress that tied up in the back. It was her
kitchen that i was in. The smell was sweet, like the drugging scent of
lavender. I was intoxicated, and pots on the stove were grey with
wear, and brown with rust. A sink was crammed to explode with dishes,
none of which seemed to have been cleaned. Nor were they destined to
be. I was startled, the girl, that is to say my wife, started to talk
to me. I left. Just as she had.We ate there, through that door. I knew
the place, the musty smell of never used pots, the rusty look of
obsessively clean flatware. The faucet that was never broken is
leaking. Something isn't right here. I, being paranoid and
schizophrenic, left the room at once.The fourth door was looming
awkwardly ahead, and I was afraid. This is why I went to work every
day, this is why I had a respectable life with respectable children
and a respectable wife. But I knew I had to move on. I wrenched open
the fourth door only to find nothing in its entirety. I knew what it
meant, but wouldnt accept it. The chapter of my life could not be
non-existent. I knew what the fifth door held, and knew it through and
through. But that did not make easing the door from its hinges any
less difficult. Maybe it made it even more difficult. I do not
remember, for i do not dwell on this moment any more. I opened the
door, and I was here. The door had vanished, and I was no more. It was
only us.