Beyond

My hand, hovering over the weathered brass knob, feels the coldness of the metal; not touching, not yet touching, hanging in that interim between fate and will. Beyond the door . . . I know not. This room is too small, and the happy pictures, lulling laudanum, painted on the walls serve only to drive me mad in their insipidness. I’ll not stay in this little room; I’ll not touch the door.

I look down, Carved into the wooden door, the paint scratched away by a stolen knife, my child’s hand wrote long ago: “BEYOND WHATS TOLD”

I’ve been in this room too long. Clasping the little knob, my hand encompasses the brass. My wrist turns, and I hear the latch click. My hand lets go, and the thin wooden door, finally released, falls into the world beyond. I see into the world beyond. There go I.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.