"Absolutely everything happens for a reason", I spoke to the clouds above me. Rain poured from the crying skies as I poured my heart and soul out into the darkness. Another rumble of thunder erupted from the sky as yet another cluster of muddled thoughts swirled around in my mind. Lighting illuminated the sky as I took a sharp intake of air lifting myself up off the muddy floor and started my hike to shelter. I wasn't more than 20 minutes away from the lighthouse but it was an uphill hike which was going to feel like torture on my legs. Huge gusts of wind threatened to throw me back down the hill with every step I took. My thoughts rattled around and smashed against my skull as I focused on not breaking down. After what felt ages I arrived only to collapse at the doorstep.
'Maybe he left because of me. Because I just wasn't what he was looking for.'
My breath caught in my throat as I pushed away the thought and blinked away tears. Focusing in on the green door that provided my only escape from the harsh storm unease settled in the pit of my stomach and made its way up. I cracked open the door with caution and grew hesitant to step into the darkness. There was no trace of light to guide me in the right direction so I placed a hand upon the wall and prayed I'd find a light. My hands were met with something slick and smooth. Nada, nothing at all to help me. Then it dawned upon me, my lighter that I had in my pocket from a series of bad choices I had made before could help. Fumbling around in my cluttered pockets I fished for my Marilyn Monroe lighter that I'd gotten for my 15th birthday from one of my many boyfriends at the time.
Flipping it on the fire crackled in the dark. It provided little light but none the less it was all I had to work with. I waved the flame to the right of me and saw what my hand was met with. A series of familiar photos lined the wall. Plucking one off the wall I studied it with darkened eyes. It was a moment I would never forget... The day my mother left. Sitting on the swing was a younger version of myself. My long blonde hair was up in pigtails at the sides of my too round head and I sat daintily on the swings we had in our yard. Still in my princess Pj's I looked at peace with my face tilted up to the sky, eyes closed enjoying how the sun warmed my face. I was carefree with not a worry in the world. The picture was taken mid swing and it was the last moment of my childhood that was captured before it all came crumbling down. About an hour after my mother was slamming her car door shut leaving me with her beast of a husband without even a whisper of a goodbye. I threw the photo down in annoyance wiping tears away from my mud caked face. Catching my breath I closed my eyes and pushed the memory away stepping forward onto the photo. One step after another I walked my way back over to where the exit should've been only to be met with two doors. A red one and a pink one. On the pink door there was a note, it was the note I wrote to my mother when I turned nine. It consisted of me begging her to come back home to save me from the monster I was forced to call my biological father. I remember sitting on my fluffy carpeted floor contemplating whether or not sending it was a good use of my time. I just couldn't imagine what would happen if she never responded, or worse, if the letter was sent back unopened. Immediately I turned toward the red door where a small bag of weed was taped on. I grabbed the bag and pushed open the door.
YOU ARE READING
Doors
Kurzgeschichten“Time is man made. Time is measured in moments, some of which we want nothing more than to rewind and do over and others in which we wish would last forever. But, that’s the thing about time, you can’t go back and redo what’s already been done but y...
