Bees don't sting unless scared

Scared to be free

    My heart started to race and so did my thoughts. The floorboards squeaked under my weight with every step I took. I swear I'd get slivers from the jagged wood I was stepping on. But did I care? Not really. I had waited so long to get this far. My heart is beating in my throat as I reach the big wooden door. Ever since I was a curious child I had wandered down these halls and found myself never making it into this door. I've always been too sheepish to turn the handle. I don't know if I'm scared of what's on the other side because I've never seen it, but maybe that's what scares me. I reach out, sweat building on the palms of my hands. I don't know what I'm so scared of. I grab the door knob. The coldness of it shocks me, shooting shivers up my arm and down my spine. I use my free hand to push back my hair that seems to be soaked in sweat. The dark isn't helping this situation but I can see little bits of coloured light escaping the cracks in the doors, exposing the "keep out" signs taped all over it. My fingers start to feel prickly from loss of blood circulation. I slowly turn the door nob, holding my breath tight in my chest. Click.