MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “door”

Grave intuitions

She knew something was wrong. From the moment she approached, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was just not right.

Perhaps it was the feeling of the air. The way her breathing had changed. Or the fact that her heart seemed to race a bit faster.

They used to call her a psychic, for she was very often right in the things she sensed.

Maybe she had a very strong intuition, one that guided her blindly. She was used to following her instincts, allowing the voices inside of her to perform spontaneous actions without knowing why.

But this time there was something grave in what she felt.

Something was terribly different.

They found out how right she was the minute they opened the door.

The mended glass door

©Dale Rogerson

There was only one room in the house that was forbidden. In fact, he had never seen anyone trespass it.

It was the first thing anyone who would stay there for a night or more would be “advised”. To “avoid the mended glass door”.

No explanations were given. They were considered superfluous.

Ben was the only boy who dared break the rules. He was considered a “problematic” child, one tormented by inner demons crated by the unhealthy environment in which he was raised.

His lifestyle was reckless because he had nothing to lose.

Not even when he opened the door.

The chain-locked door

ceayr-purple-door

©CEayr

They hadn’t walked too far when they reached a purple door. It was too modern to fit in with the rest of the historic edifice they had spent the past two hours exploring.

Why do you think it’s chain-locked?” she asked, curiosity mounting up inside her.

“Who knows, maybe they don’t want nosy-parkers trying to open it,” he replied playfully.

Now she was even more intrigued. What could be hidden behind such a door, almost indented on the outer castle periphery?

She stepped over the chain and pulled the door open.

I told you not to do that,” he squealed.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

The door you choose

mysterious doorThere were three doors. One made of steel, one of wood and one of tainted glass. The timer was menacingly heading towards zero. You had to choose one door. The one you would go through not knowing what you would find. What do you choose?

Steel is reminiscent of some futuristic, science-fiction story that would evolve behind it. Not very much your style.

Wood is in a sense more romantic; more traditional in a way. But you would still not have picked that.

So you choose tainted glass. Maybe it would hide an adventure behind it, and, really, what is life if without any risks?

You open the door, careful of what would pop-out from behind. But there is nothing. At least nothing immediately obvious.

You walk into a dark cloud that engulfs you like a marshmallow.

A human figure appears out of seemingly nowhere. But you do know who they are. You’ve had a crush on them for so long. You’ve exchanged heated kisses one afternoon, and another after that, but they always said that “they were not at that place at that moment” so you could not start or even attempt a relationship. Yet, you remained stuck, thinking about them for months. Grief filled your heart. Why is it that we always want more of what we can’t have?

The figure dissolved into a poster. A white poster with three lines. They read “try to be remarkable”. The “try to” was crossed out. You instantly filled with ambition. With all the things you wanted to achieve. With all the dreams and plans that constantly swerved in your head.

As you move ahead, the cloud appears to disperse and it becomes clearer that you are in a mansion. One of the old types that used to be a castle or palace of some sort. Some wealthy estate you would guess. Pity you’re not dressed accordingly. But as soon as you look down, your jeans and t-shirt have transformed into an elegant gown, worthy of royalty. Could it be, that we could just wish things into existence?

Then you start feeling your shoes wet. You look down and see you’ve walked into a puddle. The palace dispersed into thin air and you are now outdoors, in a meadow, in the middle of a stream. You’re back in your casual outfit, and your snickers are soaking wet. You look again and they are drenched in blood. All around you lies a dark alley with aluminium dumpsters from which rats run out of. It is so dark you can hardly see anything. Your hands feel wet. But it is blood. Fear has overwhelmed you that you spin around, unwary of what will appear next. How can emotions change so rapidly? How can our own reality succumb to so many developments in an instant?

You turn and turn, until you finally roll off the bed.

You wake, still soaked in your own sweat and realise it was all a dream.

It only lasted for so much less than you thought, but it was so real, now you can’t go back to sleep without contemplating how much we miss out on by simply not seeing enough of our surroundings.

Also part of Daily Prompt: Just a Dream

An unexpected awakening

Misty drinkKarin woke up feeling her head was about to explode. Had she fainted? She looked around but what she saw had happened was very different from what she remembered. And why did she have blood all over her hands?

The last thing she recalls is having a drink at home with Regina. Come to think of it, it was her shadow that she saw running hastily away after David’s shooting. But was David really shot? He had no bullet signs; instead Karin had a wound on her arm from where a bullet scraped her. David on the other hand seemed stabbed. And the dagger lay right there next to Karin.

So what on earth had happened?

Karin had to remember. She had to force herself out of this trance and recall what happened. What really happened and not what she mistily thought did.

So, she was having a drink with Regina, to congratulate Karin on her lead role in the performance, and Regina was telling her that she did deserve it – a hint of sarcasm with a lot of jealousy?

Then Regina asked for a refill, and Karin left the room for a minute. When she came back, she did taste something a bit different in her drink. And then it all became fuzzy. As if she was living a dream, or rather a nightmare! So Regina had given her a drug; one that allegedly was the door to paradise – or hell – from the likes of it.

So, what had happened? Was Regina so jealous that she caused Karin to kill the person she loved the most? And not even remember it? And then, what? Regina even tried to shoot her off?

And what was David doing there anyway? Was he trying to warn her?

The piece of paper Karin had found in David’s pocket still lay there on the floor. She picked it up, with the clouds now removed from her eyes and read it clearly:

“Trust no one. Not even yourself”.

Also part of this week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge to include the third definition of the word door:

DOOR
3: a means of access or participation : opportunity <opens new doors> <door to success>

 

A puzzling storm

SHIP-IN-STORMY-WEATHER-AT-SEAI was on a ship in the middle of nowhere as it seemed. The wooden mast creaked in the wind, as the waves clashed and gripped the sides of the boat, rocking it side to side as if it was deliberately trying to throw something out. I was holding on as tightly as I could but the rope was wet and starting to tear bit by bit. I felt my eyesight zoom onto it, onto the very part that was ripping up slowly. With every new thread that was breaking loose I felt my pulse liven by another beat. Was this what Coyote felt like when he lost control of the rocks and bombs he was preparing for the Road Runner? The only difference was I wasn’t aiming at anyone. All I wanted to do was…wait…what did I want to do? And why on earth was I in the middle of the ocean in a storm? Was this my punishment for having fallen asleep during The Perfect Storm? It wasn’t my fault! I was tired (probably) and the movie seemed a bit boring (I think).

I crawled on all fours on the wet wooden boards as the wind was howling against my face, spitting out at me and pushing me back. My hair, all wet and loose was sticking onto my face, and at instants I could hardly see. I wanted to reach out and pull it back but all I could think of was…all the money spent in vain at the hairdresser’s the previous afternoon. Wait…what?

I reached that trap door that now seemed better known as a ‘rescue door’ instead. Opening it was a real challenge. Pulling the handle against what felt like a tonne of a blustering current pushing against my frozen hand. Clack! Oops! The handle came off and I was left staring at that in my one hand, while at the same time desperately trying to hold on to…well basically anything! I used the side of the handle to pull open the door. Hey, at least at times like this I was innovative. But where was everyone else? Shouldn’t a ship have a whole crew of sailors and cabin boys, and perhaps even that occasional dog that would be running around in everyone’s way? Where was everybody? And most importantly, who was driving?

I wanted to go and check. But under that slit of a door everything seemed so much calmer. If only I could find the light switch. Suddenly light appeared as of nowhere. Was this the “and then there was light” moment of the movie version of whatever it is that I am living?

I looked around. I was in a cheese cellar. I don’t know where that fit into anything. But I actually found myself looking for the barrel of wine to crack open to go with the small piece of cheese I had managed to cut off. Mmm. It was smoked too. French or Italian, I couldn’t quite tell yet. Either way, where was the wine?

The box next to me smelled weird. I hoped there wouldn’t be a dead rat inside, and as every strange thing that actually draws you in rather than out, I opened it with one eye half-closed. It was prosciutto. I think it was cotto too, ‘cause I’d prefer that to the crudo type. Evidently I didn’t have enough for dinner. And all this made me thirsty. I extended my hand and reached over, grabbed the small plastic bottle of mineral water that stood beside me and nearly drank it all down in one gulp. Wait. Plastic bottle of water in a cheese cellar with traces of ham, entered through a trap door on a ship found in the midst of a storm somewhere? What was going on??

I thought I was going to have a heart-attack. That damn buzzer! Why couldn’t they make alarm clocks wake you up with a soothing, subtle melody? Does it really have to be so abrupt?  It did explain more or less everything though. The subconscious really is a mystery that takes over your dreams in the most awkward of ways!

 

 Also part of Daily Prompt: Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)

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