Doors

A Story by George

My second ever short story. [Finished- 18.09.2024]

Doors:

Straight-razor in hand. The boy scraped at his adolescent scruff. He practiced a smile in the mirror. Crooked and ugly. Just like the rest of him. Rebecca wouldn’t love him- she couldn’t, she was too perfect. Why had he confessed his love to her?

He threw down the razor and washed the loose hair from his face.

The letter Rebecca had written for him lie beside the sink. Its envelope was white; stainless- just like her smile. It would surely say she hated him; never wanting to see him again. It made him weak just thinking about it. He would read it when he could stomach the pain. Perhaps later, in bed.

He wished he was another boy. One who was sure, tall, handsome. One who was rich and smart. One who Rebecca could love. One she deserved. Tears threatened to fall on his cheek. He let them. Why cou-

A cold draught ran up his trouser leg, snaking its way up his spine. The wind whistled beneath the door from which it came- the only door the bathroom had. It was not winter. Nor were any windows open in the apartment.

His eyes a blur, stinging and red. He regarded the door, pain forgotten. The knob, once gleaming and gold, was frosted over; now glistening and white. He stuffed the letter in his breast pocket and reached for the knob, unthinking. Lifeless metal clung to his grip, yet it turned with ease. His breath held. His heart thumping. His ears ringing. His palms clammy despite the frost. He opened the door.

What lie behind the door was not his home, nor the home of any other. What lie behind the door was impossible.

He wiped his wetted eyes, disbelieving.

An interminable barren, the colour of ash, stretching endlessly in every direction. Doors littered the landscape, standing forlorn in their frames- though the boy could see no walls to hold them upright. They merely stood. Each unique in colour and design. Some old, some young. Some green, some white. Some wood, some plastic. Some with knobs, some with handles. All standing at formation as far as his eyes would let.

Lacking chary, he walked through. The grey dust soft on his boot heel. For some reason, he found himself reaching for the knob of the closest door, though he could see nothing behind. Gleaming mahogany, dark and rich. A nineteenth-century design. A small, age-stained, knob. It twisted freely. The door opened.

A sucking gust enveloped his senses; stark white his gaze. The dust below his feet turning to hard wood. Sweat, perfume, smoke filling his nostrils. Music, loud yet mellow, flooded his ears. Bushy twirls of hair sprouting from his upper lip. He felt taller, stronger, his hair longer. His vision cleared.

He found himself amidst strangers. The room was stuffy, dimly lit with smoke hanging limp in the air. Hot and humid. Suddenly, his fingers intertwined with another’s- gentler and more delicate than his own. A woman. She locked her sultry gaze upon his with lazy intensity, her eyes gleamed a lustrous yellow. Their bodies close, the fabric of their clothes almost touching, they began to sway to and fro in time with the band playing on the stage to their left.

This body was not his own. Neither was this mind. He was seeing through a stranger’s eyes. Both passenger and pilot of this body, acting under unbidden coercion. A vicarious spirit, along for the ride.

He could not look away from those doe-like hazel eyes. She noticed. A fervid smile played on her small pink lips. She leaned close, her body pressed against his. He felt the soft skin beneath the silk of her black dress. She pulled back, stepping away. As did every other woman in the room with their respective dance partners. She began to spin an angelical pirouette on the tips of her toes. Her short-ish brown hair flying madly; her skirt flaring exceedingly high up her thighs; the pearls around her neck bouncing rhythmically. With the practised ease of a professional dancer, she came to a stop, pressing close against him once more, his hands wrapping instinctively around her waist. Finally, those soft pink lips met his in a languid- almost caressing- kiss. She smelled faintly of coconut and cigarette smoke.

The stranger’s heart inside his chest fluttered. His hand snaked up from her hips, tracing the aquiline curves of her body, and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Thwup!

Gone. With the suddenness of being ripped from a dream, he stood before the door again. With a crack it slammed shut.

Whimpering with childlike anger, he reached for the knob and twisted desperately. Locked. The scent of perfume, sweat, smoke, even her coconut hair, lingered in his nose for a moment before dissipating like a morning fog.

Brief disillusion. No questions ran through his mind. Not how? Or why? Nor when? Or where? He needed to feel that joy just once more.

Alacrity overwhelmed his dismay as he rush toward the next door, tall and sea green, swinging it open.

That same sucking gust. That same bright white. Slowly fading.

Baby blue sky. Grass between his toes shining a radiant green from the beating sun above. A verdant paradise surrounded him- a clearing in the woods. He sat on a bench. Opposite him on the bench sat a young girl. Kicking her feet cheerfully, striking against his knees in gentle heartbeat rhythm. Jam smeared her face as she carelessly stuffed another triangular, crustless sandwich into her mouth. She swallowed it down in two swift gulps and started giggling. “Look, Papa!” She said, pointing behind him.

Behing him, a boy, a few years younger than the girl, sat pulling tufts of grass in handfuls and throwing them in the air like single-colour confetti. As the shards sprinkled down atop his head and shoulders, he ripped up another tuft and did it again. His chest gained weight, pride and joy pooling in his heart. He found himself giggling with the children.

Thwup!

He stood at the door again.

His joy fleeting once more. More! He needed more!

He ran to the next door and swung it open.

Hot wind shot through his hair and clothes, both of which rippled and billowed behind him like waves in a restless storm. He straddled a galloping mount, his bare thighs scratched against its shining russet hair. A never-ending field of maize carpeted the ground to the horizon in every direction. Juxtaposed only by the fading violet sky above. Everything swept by in a blur. The only constants were him and the mount between his legs, racing into eternity.

Thwup!

The next door.

A short-haired woman knelt before him, looking up at him. Her walnut hair lay just above her walnut eyes which glistened with raw, unparalleled affection. She fiddled with the laces of his shoe clumsily. Unbothered by how the laces seemed to keep slipping through her fingers. She just saw him.

Thwup!

He sat by a lake, rocking in his chair. Fishing rod in one hand, cigarette in the other. Birds cooed in the trees above. His cheeks stung from the cold; he loved it.

Thwup!

A small, gleeful dalmatian rolled over and over at his feet. The tag on its collar swinging in tandem with its pendulant tail. Its eyes hopeful and eager for the treat he teased it with.

Thwup!

Through countless doors the boy ran. Each offering a glimpse of the warmth the world has to offer. He could not stop himself. Every door held a completely new and unique experience he could have only dreamed of in his previous life. The more doors he went through the more of himself he would lose. He was addicted. And, as with all addictions, the pleasure dulled- or rather, he became accustomed to it. And, as also with addictions, time slipped by.

His fingertips were wrinkled from the river of time. Wisps of his billowing white beard scratched against his wilted hand as he raised it towards the next knob. He swatted at the mass of hair, irritably. His clothes hung from his shrink-wrapped skin in limp dregs. His sunken and glassy eyes roved wildly. Where was he? He was a lonesome stranger in a strange land. He continued for the knob. The door swung open. No sucking gust. No bright white light. Nothing.

Instead, a long winding path, stretching upwards, leading towards a landing. He did not care. He stepped through the door and began to ascend.

His gait was slow and weary, limping upwards, unthinking. He simply had no thoughts. Not for a long time. He just walked, opening doors.

Memories sat foggy in his mind. Which were real and which were not? He could not tell. His mind was a constant blur. His previous life forsaken. Only fading remnants of the doors remained.

Bones lurched and creaked under his skin, begging for respite as he climbed. What did it matter now? The pain was a shadow, as was all else. Still, he climbed.

Without realising it, he had reached the landing. He tripped, falling to his knees from the sudden change in gradient. From the tattered remains of his breast pocket fell an envelope, stained and dog-eared. He fumbled at the lip before simply tearing it open. Still, no thoughts were behind his eyes. He flipped open the folded paper which was inside. In a large scrawl were the words: I LOVE YOU DEARLY… He kept reading. Line after line his eyes grew wider, almost bulging from his skull with understanding. Tears threatened to fall on his cheeks. He let them. He looked up, regarding the landing. It was empty. Naturally, he was alone.