Here lies an excerpt of a story I am working on. Feedback is always welcome.
The Door by Nicholas Henderson
The door sits in the middle of the wall. It looks so unnatural. As unnatural as a door can be. It feels like it is Challenging me, taunting me, calling out to me. How did it get there? What is its purpose. I have to know. Everyday I got home from work I’d walk passed it. Right after the turnstiles to the right of the exit, there is a door. It seems to just hover there, not really a part of our world, not really attached to the wall, but over it.
I had been walking past it for years now but I just noticed it recently. Maybe I always knew it was there,but only now is it relative. One night I decided to look up and there it was- a door in the middle of the wall. It seemed to be about eight feet above the ground and made of steel or some kind of metal. Old, like 100 year old bark. I stood there and stared at it. It felt like a black hole, tearing me apart inside out, beckoning me to come toward it. I was frozen. My legs became anchors in time unable to comprehend anything that was not the door. I don’t remember a thing from that day except for the door. I got home and was a different person. My body ached. It felt as if I had just fallen off a banister and landed on my back, if felt as if I had been staring at the sun at high noon, and it felt as if I had just made love endlessly- all at the same time.
As I stood on the platform edge waiting for the train I longed the sight of the door. It was all I could think of as I looked into the tunnel’s darkness – it cut me to pieces! The longer I stood there the more I needed to see the light of the oncoming train. It was determined to take its time. Why was I here? The ground looks like a biohazard accident, something that breeds Godzilla-like creatures. I’ve never seen a color of water quite like the stagnant substance that sticks to the NYC tracks. I wonder if that’s what clogged arteries look like? I’ve got to start eating better. Is the water clean beyond the door? She deserves better, she is not “A door”, no, the Only Door. The most important door I will ever walk through.
Genius. Beautiful. I love the sentence of NYC water in the tracks and if that's what clogged arteries look like. I want to see more of that! My professor once told me that there are certain areas in a persons writing that impacts you, and it's in those certain areas the writer wasn't thinking of what to write, they just wrote. I love it. I def think you can and should keep developing this piece.
ReplyDelete