Freedom

Considering his options, he saw that he was not stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

This idiom suggested that there were two ways he could turn. 

Rather, there were not two, but three doors that he could pass through to battle his demons.

Door 1. He could seek help. 

He wrapped his hand around the dull, black handle of this gateway to solvency. As he pulled the old wooden door towards himself, he gazed in on what lay beyond. 

A white room. 

There was nothing interesting to be seen besides a simple, low-to-the-ground bed that lay in the center of this small space. It only took him a moment, however, to notice that there were restraints on the sides of the bed that looked ready to chain anyone who was foolish enough to feel secure in the bed down for good, never to release the victim. 

As a cold shudder passed through his body, he slammed this door shut. 

Door 2. He could open his wrists and end it all.

The handle to this door was a shiny silver, and the wood was painted a beautiful sky blue. Optimistically, he pulled this door open to view what he hoped would be a better option than the previous one. 

Within this door lay a small terrarium. Looking at the ground beneath his feet, he saw deep green grass that only sparsely covered the wet soil from which it grew. 

Extending his gaze out in front of himself, however, the picture grew immeasurably more bleak. A woman and a child were kneeling before a grave strangely placed in the back of this small indoor-garden-like room, and weeping as they placed vibrantly colored flowers at the foot of the stone. 

My wife. My son. 

With a dark feeling creeping up inside of him, he slowly closed this door as well. 

Finally, having drawn himself back into the gloomiest corner of his own mind, he turned himself to face the final option. 

Door 3. Numbness. 

As soon as he looked at what lay before him, he notices that this third door was colored exactly the same as the handle by which it was opened. 

A bland, dark grey. 

Feeling no trace of excitement or skepticism by this time, he reached forward to look into what seemed to be the last resort. 

Although there was no soft texture to the walls of this room, the vague grey interior of the space was somehow fuzzy, and reminded him of the static on a broken TV. He looked around the room and first saw nothing, until he looked more closely at the back corner on the right side. 

A small, nondescript white bottle of pills lay spilled open across the blank floor. It suggested nothing and it made no sound, but somehow this last answer spoke the most and least loudly to him at the same time. 

It wasn't solving his problem for real; he knew that. But it was unfortunately the only thing that he had left. 

Hoping to find liberation but expecting to find none, he stepped over the threshold and entered the room, leaving his regard for the rest of the world on the other side of the door. 

Reviews

[Sara Lufrano]

Interesting imagery for the choices that he has available to him. Having small hints about what got him to that point would help me feel closer to him and his decision to go with door number 3. Kudos on writing something so short but succinct and self contained.

Thanks!