kgremore
12-20-2008, 06:41 PM
There was a door at the end of a long tunnel. Or was it a hallway? He couldn’t tell in the darkness. His perception was blurred…his fantasy intermeshed with his reality; his fantasy becoming his reality, his reality his fantasy. The nightmares that came at night were the worst. The maze always preceded the thrust into the interminable abyss of darkness. Everywhere he went mirrors faced him, shape-shifters in his head, following his every move. Every row… there was a door… blockading him. Again thrusting him into darkness…wherever he went…it could never be evaded. Every different path was the same. One day he would walk in that door. And there was no going back.
The morning was light and crisp as middle aged George walked out of his apartment one Monday morning. Light snow was falling and he had to be careful to not slip on the icy sidewalks that could very well result in immediate death. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Some things just couldn’t be helped. Suddenly George’s thoughts began to slip elsewhere, but George stood up straighter and focused. Focused on that one image…the image he was striving for…the very same image that made him want to flee … yet the one image that kept him going…kept him in existence… The door. The ever so distant but just within reach door…nearly tempting him as he walked along the street. The more he walked, the further away the door advanced as if he and the door were dancing to an unheard tune. Beads of perspiration matted George’s forehead. He had to hurry or else the door might close. He couldn’t let that happen.
George began running…he was the only one on the street now. The people with jovial faces beside him whose laughter was singing the icy air were now gone…an evanescent dream soon to be forgotten…remnants of a forgotten past. No matter. They didn’t matter. He pitied other people. How oblivious and pathetic they were. Sooner or later they would make acquaintance with the door.
It was just him and the door now; nothing else mattered. Something took hold of his limbs; pressing him forward; his legs felt like they were made of pure metal as if he were wading in some invisible bog; his legs no longer powered by his body but by some immovable force. There was no holding back. Embracing the darkness. Embracing the calmness and solace that accompanied the wave of darkness.. Was it solace or was it terror? Would he ever really walk through the door? If he did, would he have knowledge of it?
The door began to speak to him; entreating to him; as it continued to beckon him forthwith. How scornful it was! The terminator it was… as is was the source.
He didn’t hear the screeching of brakes nor did he hear his bones break in his body. He passed through the door like a mere grain of sand…intermeshing with the darkness…never to be in existence again.
The morning was light and crisp as middle aged George walked out of his apartment one Monday morning. Light snow was falling and he had to be careful to not slip on the icy sidewalks that could very well result in immediate death. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Some things just couldn’t be helped. Suddenly George’s thoughts began to slip elsewhere, but George stood up straighter and focused. Focused on that one image…the image he was striving for…the very same image that made him want to flee … yet the one image that kept him going…kept him in existence… The door. The ever so distant but just within reach door…nearly tempting him as he walked along the street. The more he walked, the further away the door advanced as if he and the door were dancing to an unheard tune. Beads of perspiration matted George’s forehead. He had to hurry or else the door might close. He couldn’t let that happen.
George began running…he was the only one on the street now. The people with jovial faces beside him whose laughter was singing the icy air were now gone…an evanescent dream soon to be forgotten…remnants of a forgotten past. No matter. They didn’t matter. He pitied other people. How oblivious and pathetic they were. Sooner or later they would make acquaintance with the door.
It was just him and the door now; nothing else mattered. Something took hold of his limbs; pressing him forward; his legs felt like they were made of pure metal as if he were wading in some invisible bog; his legs no longer powered by his body but by some immovable force. There was no holding back. Embracing the darkness. Embracing the calmness and solace that accompanied the wave of darkness.. Was it solace or was it terror? Would he ever really walk through the door? If he did, would he have knowledge of it?
The door began to speak to him; entreating to him; as it continued to beckon him forthwith. How scornful it was! The terminator it was… as is was the source.
He didn’t hear the screeching of brakes nor did he hear his bones break in his body. He passed through the door like a mere grain of sand…intermeshing with the darkness…never to be in existence again.