Corridor of Time

Thomas walked through a corridor, the walls were covered in wallpaper in the style of nineteen-twenties American décor. Doors lined the corridor, each door was a rich oak color with black metal handles. None of the doors could be opened except one. At the end of the hall was a door made of white marble, it looked heavy and unmovable but glimmered with an otherworldly luminescence.

Thomas walked briskly towards the marble door, his black dress shoes scuffed against the long strip of floral carpeting that ran down the center of the corridors hardwood floor. Thomas’ brisk walk turned into a run, his dress pants making a swishing sound as he went. The corridor was silent except for the noise Thomas made as he tried to reach the white door.

The more Thomas ran the longer the corridor seemed to be but he was determined to reach the door. He didn’t know why he was so driven to this door or how long he had been running, he didn’t bother looking back or try to open any other door, his goal was straight ahead and he was in a full sprint as he tried to reach it.

Details of the door were revealed as he drew closer. The door had a gold lining, along the edges and made a square pattern in the center of the door. A small golden crest of a lion head was next to the silver handle of the door. The door was opened slightly, a shaft of light beamed out through it, dust particles floated and danced in the air, reflecting the light shining on it.

Thomas finally reached the door, he stopped for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. He took off his hat and his suit jacket then wiped sweat from his head. He felt like he had been running for miles in his dark gray suit but didn’t bother looking back to check how far he had traveled.

As regained his composure he heard the light pattering of rain on the other side of the door. A cool breeze blew through the small opening and the rain sound grew louder. Thomas reached for the handle and as soon as he touched the doorknob the door slammed shut. Thomas stood there stunned his hand still outstretched now only grasping air instead of the silver handle.

At this point Thomas thought about trying a different door, maybe another door entirely. There were so many brown wooden doors in the corridor that one of them would open. Thomas thought about this for several seconds and though it was only seconds the seriousness of the decision made if feel like an eternity. Thomas felt that going through a door was one of the most important decisions of his life and while he wanted to open the white marble door he worried he would be wasting his time on the flashy door and never get to leave the corridor at all.

Thomas reached his hand out again for the silver doorknob of the marble door. The golden lion emblem protruded out form the door and cut Thomas’ hand as he grasped the handle. Blood trickled from his hand and coated the golden lion’s mouth but Thomas continued to turn the silver doorknob.

Thomas twisted the handle of the door, his hand gathering cuts and scraps as he went. The golden lion was not a mighty guardian standing in his way, but the continued cuts and bleeding made Thomas reconsider his actions. Even though doubt was growing in him, he continued. He turned the handle all the way and pulled the door open. Though it appeared to be made of heavy marble, the door opened with ease. Thomas pulled his hand from the door, acquiring one last scrape from the golden lion.

The sound of rain could be heard in full, a gentle breeze rolled into the corridor from the other side of the door. Light was cast down over Thomas. It was warm and inviting. Thomas put his suit jack and hat back on and stepped through the door. This wasn’t the end for him but it was certainly the beginning of something wonderful.

When the Lights go out

When the lights go out, when the people leave and the last note of a song fades, that’s when you find out what kind of person you are. When there are no other voices to hear but your own, that is when you will start to hear your own true voice.

            I have screamed into the darkness and only heard daunting silence as a reply, I have drifted along in the tides of uncertainty for so long that I can stand firm and unwavering on my ship as my life drifts out to sea. I have grown so used to the sound and feel of misfortune that I feel dread when it is not around. I have embraced so many negatives in this world and act as if the world was this way for everyone. Some think I am strange or unnecessarily aggressive but they have not seen the things I have.

            I am so accustomed to being alone that I find it tiring to be around others for long periods of time. Just as some might not understand why I can’t stand large gatherings of people, I also have a hard time understanding how someone could not handle being alone.

Twisting Apathy

 A twisting wind whirled across the land, physical matter was torn to shreds in its wake. At the center was a person with a bored expression. 

The Earth spun through space, flew continuously around a giant ball of fire and all of this floated in an infinite weightless vacuum. Back on Earth the whirlwind torn through the land. The people of Earth were generally unimpressed by all of these events. 

"Get back to me when the whirlwind is on fire!" One person said with a shrug as the deadly wind ripped the neighbors house from the ground. As the house was torn to a thousand pieces and neighbor JoJack was pulled into a thousand directions the surrounding neighborhood was still uninterested and continued along with their lives.

"It's a bit of a nuisance, but if it was a real threat someone would have said something by now" John Muggak said to his friend, who had expressed momentarily concern then went back to his general comfortable state. John smiled, pleased with himself for being so smart. He walked over to his television, grabbed the remote and turned the TV on. "This week, there is terrible news!" Shouted the news reporter as he gripped each side of his desk. "Ashley Allure the famous starlet was dumped by her rich celebrity boyfriend! Who gets the car?! Which of the ten cars do they get? Stay tuned for all the details!" The nicely groomed newscaster shouted in a panic.

John Muggak looked alarmed "see?! If we worried about some wind outside we would have missed this!" John shouted at his friend. Then John felt proud for being so right about the situation.

The humanoid at the center of the whirlwind grew bored of the destruction and eventually stopped. Three towns were flattened by the powerful winds when the whirlwind being decided to quit. The winds dissipated and the humanoid vanished into the air. Sadly Ashley Allure never returned with her boyfriend.

Holiday Contemplation

Snow drifted gentle from the sky as the wood in my hearth crackled and burned. I sat in front of the warming glow of the fire and watched the flames flicker and dance. It was night, the first snow of December had settled on the town.

            In the distance I could hear small bells ringing and people singing festive songs. The winter festival had arrived in this little village and everyone gathered in the middle of town to celebrate. The town would celebrate in song and dance for seven days and on the final day, when the clock struck midnight, everyone would exchange gifts and wish each other cheer. It was a fine tradition, celebrating the end of the year and giving the village something to celebrate during the winter.

            While others liked going out into the cold and singing, I preferred to stay warm in my home. I don’t mind the singing, but I don’t understand the need to be outside in the snow, or the need for those bells. Villagers carried small bells on a stick and rang them and cheered.

            I remember Hazel used to like the winter celebrations. She would sing and dance with the rest of the village. While I always assumed I lived in a village of idiots, I knew Hazel wasn’t an idiot, yet she enjoyed the festival just as much as anyone. I’ve always felt that there was a piece of myself missing, that I couldn’t enjoy the holidays like the others. I felt as though there was a wall between me and everyone else when it came to these things. During my younger years I tried to join everyone, I did the motions, I sang the songs and tried to be in good cheer. No matter how I tried to join the group I never understood the appeal, I never truly fit into the festivities.

            I gazed into the flickering flame and my memories took over, I no longer saw the fire, I was looking into memories of Winter festivals of the past. I remember being told that I ‘used to’ enjoy the fun, I ‘used to’ be a merry and cheerful fellow. I don’t know if these comments should make me laugh or cry, as the times the villagers spoke of were times that I was trying and failing to fit in. From their comments I can assume I was convincing in my attempts to join the celebration, but I never enjoyed a minute of it, I faked emotion to please the others and they believed it.

            I was always capable of experiencing fun and joy, but others used to say I was cold and unable to have fun because I did not run and jump like an idiot in the cold and snow. I did not enjoy drinking harsh alcohol that burned my mouth and soured my stomach, I did not enjoy women who I do not know climbing all over me after they had consumed too much beer or wine.

            I used to enjoy things with Hazel. She was a lovely person, she could sit with me by the fire, she enjoyed books with me and we had long and interesting conversations. She also enjoyed festivals and dancing like a maniac. She could enjoy so many things and was able to bridge the gap of interests between the village and me.

           

            Hazel was truly too good for this world, she was the only one who could get through my wall and see who I was behind the layer of bricks that I built to keep the world out. She had more power over me than I’d like to admit and when she died I felt my heart break and my mind snap.

            Over the long years I have recovered to some degree, but my heart would never be the same and I drifted further from the rest of the village as their ignorant attempts to help me only made me feel worse. It is almost midnight of the final day and the Winter Festival is almost over. I made a gift for Hazel and put it on a shelf above my hearth. I crafted a heart out of glass in my workshop. The heart was red like the fire in my hearth because the only things that could still warm me was the fire in my hearth and the memory of Hazel’s love.

Absent Fantasy

Words fill my head like a stream, a river of consciousness, the thoughts flow. My waterfall of thought crashes against the rocks of depression only to end there. The thoughts are destroyed and motivation banished. Words mean so little to me these days. I say them and feel nothing. No rainbows and giant trees, orcs and trolls are absent from the strange lands that my mind used to inhabit. The world of fantasy is empty and I am left alone in an empty field with gray skies. When the world of fantasy starts to look bleak then I begin to live more in the real world. My mind and my time are spent longer and longer in the real world. Bills, responsibilities, pain, depression attack from all sides, but the real world has beauty in it too, love, friendship, excitement and deeper sights and smells than my fantasy world ever had. I the rich smell of wood smoke and the feel of an autumn breeze exist in the real world but they are passing experiences. So I hold them tight and steal them away in through the door of fantasy. I grab as much of these experiences as I can but when they get into my world of fantasy they don’t have the same splendor. The imagined autumn tree has become flat and the rich fragrance of wood smoke is nothing but a wisp of a memory.

            My fantasy world used to take a tree and create a forest. One unique tree could even inspire an entire story. The tree could be ugly, strange or beautiful, it didn’t matter. Whenever I saw something so unique that I felt it didn’t belong in the real world I would steal it, I would take it to join the fantasy in my mind. In my fantasy world trees could talk if they were ancient enough, regular people could be heroes or villains, cats were magical, well more magical than in real life, and I could be free.

            I feel like my world has started to mirror the never-ending story. The nothing consumed the Never Ending storybook and destroyed the wondrous creatures that lived there. I feel that the Nothing has come for my fantasy world and it makes me nervous. Though I hope that this absence of fantasy is temporary. Maybe the Nothing didn’t consume my fantasy world, but instead I have become too tainted by stress and the real world to see the fantasy before my eyes. The fantasy creatures that once lived in my world still exist, but I just cannot see them. I miss them. I write about characters like Pumpkin Jack, the Gravedigger, Hobbs, the Vanguard, those hundreds of characters named Joseph and Jack, the lands like Hallows end, Bokro, Dark town and autumn carnival, I write about these people and places but I can’t see them as much anymore. I used to be able to picture them so clearly as if they stood in front of me but now I write about them from memory of what I think they would do and say. I miss them and I don’t know how to return to the worlds I once created. This is not the first time I have felt distant from my stories, but it might be one of the longest times I have gone without writing, or without visiting the fantasyland in my imagination.

            I am sure there are plenty of people who would be confused or not understand the severity of what I am talking about, some might think I am insane and lost my grip with reality, sadly I have not, I know all too well what reality is. To dream makes us human and the capacity for fantasy is one of greatest gift you could have. Children have the capacity for fantasy and the live half in fantasy and half in reality, but parents either choose not to nurture this gift or they straight out destroy it. Some people die but continue to walk through life thinking they are alive. This society is not made for dreamers and artists, this world is cold and hard and you have to look for the good and the warm. Every human has to search for the good in life and some never find it.

            In my opinion, the nicest thing you could do for someone is make them a meal and tell them a story.