Harry Potter had just evaded Death's greedy clutches yet again, when WHAM! The entire house reverberated with the deafening sound of a knock on my front door. I jumped a mile, and without hesitation, I lunged at the baseball bat that was stationed like a pink, steel sentinel in the corner by the front door. I hesitated, and then peeped out of the miniscule eye hole, expecting the worse; I was ready for a fight.
Yet no one was there.
There was a lone, brown bag sitting between the 'm' and the 'e' of my "WELCOME" mat, forgotten and menacing like a stray and vicious dog that somehow ended up in your front yard . Skeptical but curious, I unbolted the door, yanked the bag that was sitting on my soppy welcome mat, slammed the door shut, and then relocked it, all in a heartbeat.
After I had placed my guardian back in his corner, I plopped down on the couch, looking around as if I was waiting for an imp to spring up from behind the outdated sofa and scream with delight "GOTCHA!" When the imaginary imp failed to appear, I opened the bag and dumped its contents onto the couch cushion, turning them over and examining them like dirty coins. A silver, rusted key, a fortune cookie fortune, and a miniscule, gift wrapped box lay with false innocence before me.
I turned the greasy fortune over once I had fully inspected the key. It read 444- 333- 2222. It looked like a phone number to me so I bounded up the stairs, not sure what to expect, grabbed the phone from the receiver, then hopped back down the stairs. I dialed the number, yet it was as if I had not; there was no dial tone- not a single indication that I had pushed a button. The phone was charged.
Next, I decided to open the box. It revealed just as much as the obscure fortune phone number had. It had a small number sign etched into the bottom. Frustrated, I repeatedly flipped the box and prodded the sign for I did not know what, but nothing happened. Finally, I decided to dial the number again out of sheer determination and curiosity. When there was no sound, I prodded the number sign again, defeated and disappointed.
After the very tip of my finger prodded the scratched sign, as if triggered by some unknown magic coursing through my veins, the center of the number sign began to widen and burst into magnificent flame. Horrified, I threw the box across the room.
It did not land.
It revolved, suspended in midair like a petite, flaming moon. I had a fraction of a second to gaze in bewilderment and terror before I was sucked into its inexplicable and nameless depths. My very being was distorted; I could feel myself stringing along through time and space. It was suffocating. It was involuntary.
Then, as it had started, it all came to an immediate and unexpected halt. I was tossed onto a dusty, cracked linoleum floor in the most unceremonious way possible. I stumbled to my feet and felt my jacket pocket which seemed to be bulging. The key, the box, and the fortune were hiding in my pocket, waiting until their moment of service came. Revolted by this, I attempted to sling the inanimate miscreants down the dank, dark corridor that I was in. They would not move, too comfortable for such a sudden and undesirable change of home. Frustrated and terrified, I looked around; it was obvious I was in a hospital.
Weak, half dead lights blinked at me from the ceiling and from cut electrical cords. The miserable remains of walls and doors were strewn across the corridor floor like dying soldiers on a battlefield. I trudged over all of them, timid, fearful, unsure and alone, searching for a way back home.
The corridor seemed endless. I tried every door that had not been blasted off its hinges or blown to heaven knows where. The survivors were all locked, determined to keep from me what was taking refuge in the depths of their hearts. When I jiggled the handle of the seventh locked door, I began to panic.
I began to run at a clumsy and careless pace, tripping over stone and wood, my breathing turned into hyperventilation, and my heartbeat could be heard from miles away. I could feel it pounding at a frantic pace in my ears, my throat, my head, hands, wrists- I felt it all over.
My heart beat faster than I could run, faster than the frantic tears that had begun to fall. Eventually, it seemed as if my heart was not only slaving over my own pulse, but a second as well. I could hear it; two separate beats, one frantic and feverish, and the other, pleading and frail.
I stopped to listen; where was that dejected sound coming from? I followed the fragile sound down four different corridors that had all been blown to smithereens with the exception of a few steadfast survivors, three flights of stairs, and through two emergency exit doors.
I made it.
To what, I could not be sure, but I knew that I had found the source of the feeble heart beat when I heard it pick up its pathetic pace. I listened carefully, putting my ear to each door. I was listening for life.
When I came to the last door, I screamed a silent rage when I realized it was locked. I knew for a fact that the poor soul was behind that door! I could almost feel its pulse in the cold metal of the cracked door knob; it was palpitating against my own intense veins that were beating against my cold, clammy skin.
I jerked the door several times in irritation and alarm- it was my only way out, and it was locked, stubborn, and sneering.
Finally, I realized that I had a silver key that was begging to be taken out of my pocket for use. I yanked it with tremendous force, and to my extreme surprise, it was ready ad compliant this time. I examined the key, praying to all things good and pure that it would take me home. I jammed it in the key hole, and without turning it, the last obstinate door yielded to me, allowing me to see what lay struggling for life in its heart.
In the center of the floor was an overturned hospital bed. The heartbeats were deafening at this point- it shook me from the inside out. I approached the bed, curious, skeptical, cautious. The pulse of the frail and the pounding of the frantic choked me as I leaned over the bed to see what had brought me here.
A young woman, who was familiar in a most eerie way, was lying on her back, limbs splayed in an unnatural state, eyes watering and wide. She was having a heart attack. I sank to my knees and I began to give her CPR.
What kind of hospital was this?
When her heart beat settled into a sound and comforting rhythm, she took several deep breaths before rasping in my ear "Do not forget to return them". She patted the pocket that housed the magical trinkets. I stared into her familiar brown eyes, pondering her words. The petite, flaming moon burst out of my pocket and began to revolve in midair. I had a fraction of a second to realize the impossible...
I was staring into my own eyes.
I was yet again thrown in an unceremonious way, but this time, against a door- WHAM! I sank to the ground. I stashed my saviors back into the menacing brown bag that stood waiting for me between 'm' and 'e'. Before I could peep through the eye hole, I ran away into the rain, thankful that I had opened the door again.
