My short stories

Story 4

~~~The other side of the door~~~

I brought my knees up and hugged them. The darkness filled the space in the small room.

Instantly, a bright light peered under the door, lighting up my toes. I pull away just to be engulfed in the safe darkness.

Footsteps come close to the door.

I heard a ripping sound, the ripping sound of paper, from outside the door. I heard a pencil being put to it. Then a small amount of writing.

The paper was slid under the door. The light from the other side lit the paper, allowing me to read, "hello" on the paper. It was cursive, beautiful, and was very light as if the person didn't press down hard enough.

I moved the paper away, and stared at the light, still in awe.

A heard another ripping. The pencil wrote away. It was slid under the door.

"You're weird" was written in the same soft cursive.

I didn't move the paper. I just looked at the paper and the shadow, oh the beautiful shadow it casted.

The person sighed. I looked at the door, half expecting to see them, the person on the other side of the door.

Now they ripped the paper slowly. I heard a sobbing. I got concerned. I drop my legs and sit on my knees and put my hand against the door, as if to comfort them. They scribbled something then slid the paper under the door.

"You're fat"

There were wet dots on the paper that was about two inches in length. The cursive was messier than the other notes.

I frown and, still on my knees, pet the door caressing it.

I open my mouth to say something but was cut off by the ripping of paper. I hear a sniffle and they began writing.

Almost and instant later a piece of notebook paper was slid under the door.

"You're a bitch"

I almost gasped at this. I was not a bitch.

"I am not!" I hit the door with my palm then bring it back by my side where it balls up like my other hand.

I heard laughter, laughter mixed with crying.

Paper was being torn as I scoffed. I almost started to feel sorry for this person, but they obviously don't like me, whoever they are.

They slide the next paper under and it says "you don't care about anyone but yourself" In small dark cursive.

The wet dots were on this paper too...

I push all the pieces of paper to the side to make room for more of them.

I did care about other people, I wanted to make sure the person on the other side of this door was okay, but they insulted me.

They tear off another piece.

I was anxiously waiting when I heard sobbing... Full on sobbing, sobbing like a relative or friend passed away.

I instantly got concerned.

"It-it's okay.." I press my hand against the hard, cold wooden door.

They hit the door, making it shake, and I pull my hand away and scoot away. I was terrified of the person on the other side of the door.

They wrote me another message: "you're not important: no one needs you"

The writing was now in print and still dark.

That stung. A note was given but the feeling of a punch to the stomach was received. I scoffed.

"I am important..." I brought up my knees in the safe unknown. I said the next thing so quiet I almost didn't hear myself "right?"

The person rips off another paper piece.

After a minute and no writing being heard I crease my forehead. I move my knees and crawl back to the door, but not close enough to where the light touches me.

They heard me and start writing.

The message was slid under and I had to press down a corner so the light lit up the message: "I'm leaving you."

The writing was messy and thick. I turned my head much like a confused dog.

"L-leaving?" I put my hand on the door, off of the note. "What do you mean leaving?"

They ripped off another piece and scribbled violently. The shoved the note under and cried.

The note now, instead of wet drops it had red drops on it.

"I've got the gun..This world is too cruel.."

The letters thick and black were much different than the "hello" in soft beautiful cursive I earlier received.

"W-what do you mean--" they had a gun... "A gun for what?"

They answered both my questions with a single sound: the loading of a gun. They were going to kill them selves. I ran my trembling hands quickly up the side of the door, begging for the handle. I found it and jerked on it. It was locked.

No.

Oh, no..

I stand and pull, trying to break it open. I pull and pull. Despite all my effort the door doesn't open. I keep pulling.

"No, don't do anything.."

A feminine voice said "You can't save me from behind that locked door. I have the key."

I was relieved "give it to me, please."

She scoffed. "I locked it for a reason."

No... "No... No no no please... Give me the key... Everything's going to be okay..."

I hear her start crying. Again. "It's not going to be okay. It's not going to get better!!"

She threw her fist against the door.

"No.. It will be... Don't take a permanent action for a temporary feeling..."

This person was not about to take their life.

"...you're right..."

I sighed and pulled on the door handle.

"Just let me out,--"

"But this isn't a temporary feeling."

"What--"

I was cut off by the loudest bang.

I went slightly def--there was a constant ringing. I yanked on the door, screaming I don't know how loud, but it was loud enough it made my throat hurt. The door gave in and it yanked open. The light poured from the other side. The girl on the ground had a million small, bleeding cuts on her wrist, blood trailer down both her arms. An open of scissors laid next to her, slightly bloody. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, and was lying on the stack of notebook paper. The pencil was thrown across the room probably in anger. I eyed the girl and her bloody temple more carefully.

My stomach flipped.

I felt something trickling from the side of my forehead. I reach my trembling hand to my head and pull back sticky red fingertips. As I collapsed I realized that girl, the one dead on the other side of the door, was me.