The Glass Doorknob

This was one of the first real good pieces I ever wrote -- still trying to get it published!

            The glittering gem-cut glass doorknob felt pleasantly smooth beneath my sweaty palm.  My fingers slid along the knob to the brass neck.  It was smooth at first, but became pitted under the touch of my fingers.  I drew my hand away cautiously.  The neck was now copper engraved with leaves and flowers.  I did a double take as the knob changed to an apple and then back to glass, but green this time.  I took a hesitant step back from the door.  Squarish black metal letters fastened to the broad cherry door with gold screws read: “YOU ARE HERE.”  I narrowed my eyes, cocked my head, and nodded ever so slightly at the obvious.  Suddenly, the letters changed to a silver, swooping script that said: “The Door of Deceit.”

            Something within me urged me to open the door, but I felt a bit afraid.  It had simply appeared in place of my bedroom door.  My bedroom itself had been replaced by a dark, empty grand hall.  The only thing I could see was the door, clearly illuminated by an unknown light source.  The door made me nervous, but so did the hall.  I chose the door.

            The knob decided not to change again while I turned it, but it pulsed with a concentrated energy that calmed my nerves.  I stepped slowly into a dimly lit chamber.

            The knob’s energy had not calmed my nerves quite enough, though.  I half-gasped, half-shrieked as the door closed behind me and I beheld the one other occupant of the dark-paneled room.  He sat cross-legged on one of the many purple, scarlet, and gold silk pillows scattered over the floor.  Before him shone a perfectly circular clear blue pool surrounded by smooth, round grey stones.

            He was an old man whose body indicated he had been well muscled in youth.  His hands were broad and thick with short round fingers.  His bare feet were long and flat.  He had wrapped himself in and off-white strip of muslin that vaguely resembled a toga.  But it was his face that startled me.  Or rather, his lack thereof.  He had a head, pale pink flesh and bald, but no face.  No ears, eyes, nose, or mouth.  The skin, smooth and taut, implied he had never possessed any of those sensory organs.  He was unnerving to look at, and I lowered my eyes to the pool at my feet.  The water was still and deep, but the bottomless depths were not dark.  It glimmered a bright crystal blue, and it looked cold.

            A voice echoed through the room.  I looked up sharply, and the old man spoke again, but no mouth moved.  “You are here.”  My eyes widened in surprise and fear.  How could he speak without a mouth?  “Do not be afraid.”  His voice was deep and musical, but solemn.  “You ventured through the Door of Deceit, which all too often teases and deludes us with its changing face.  But you have braved its tricks and entered the Chamber of Truth.  Here all naiveté and delusion are destroyed.”  He motioned for me to look into the pool.  He was reflected there, and yet he was not.

            His reflection had grown short, fine, golden brown hair.  He had a face.  A young face.  A laughing mouth with full lips, a sculpted nose, and smiling eyes.  Those eyes.  Almond shaped below delicately arching eyebrows with long, feminine lashes.  They were blue, hard and cold, but warm and soft at the same time.  They were deeper than the pool, and bluer, too.  Those eyes.  They beguiled me, and I dropped my nervous guard.

            His voice startled me from my study of his features, this time issuing from his mouth.  “Do not be deceived.  Things are not ever as they seem.  Use your eyes to see, and you will view only falsehood.  Use your mind and heart to see, and you will distinguish the truth.”  He paused.  “I am Kalzar, Guardian of Truth.  You will learn from me.”

            I looked up at him, questioning.  Out of the reflection, he still had no face.  “Drink,” he said.  I did as I was instructed, cupping my hands and dipping them under the surface.  I brought the sparkling liquid to my mouth and sipped.  It tasted cool and refreshing.

            I felt a sudden need for enlightenment, my mind an empty cavern needing to be filled.  I stooped and sat cross-legged on a pillow behind me.  I gazed, bright-eyed, at Kalzar’s head, waiting.

            He began to speak.  He told me every truth that has ever been, every truth that is, and every truth that ever will be.  He filled my empty mind with glowing truth, chasing delusions from the obscure corners.  Somehow, I felt him smile.  I fainted.

 

*****

 

When I awoke my back pressed against a green lamppost on the edge of a crowded city sidewalk.  Hundreds of people rushed by me and did not notice me because they were preoccupied with their own thoughts, so much so that hardly a sound escaped from the crowd.

I ached to break the silence.  The truths pressed against my eyes, my ears, and the back of my head, searching desperately for an exit.  The pressure was unimaginable.  It expressed an urgent and caged desire for freedom.  The truths needed an outlet, a means of escape.  They found it.  One moment of battering against my lips and they were free.  My voice launched them from my throat and sent them echoing off the pavement and the skyscrapers and into the ears of the people before me.  The dull grey city and all its drab occupants were my audience.

Every single person stopped to listen to me, thoroughly de-animating the scene.  A few possessed eyes brimming with a dawning wonder, though most wore faces of a twisted agony and fear I had never known or seen.  I realized that they were frightened of me and what I was saying.  I was astonished.  Several tense seconds passed as we regarded each other and the truths flowed freely from my body.  They were born up by a rogue breeze to be caught in the overcast sky.

Then, with a cry of, “Help!  She’s mad!” the mass of people seethed and swirled around me in an unearthly manner, driven by their fear.  I was hustled roughly into a straight jacket and carted off to an insane asylum, spouting truths all the way.  The van in which I was transported was damp, cold, and dark with rust and grime.  My attendants could not bear to hear what I said and tried to stuff a rag in my mouth to muffle my dissertation, but the truths flowed through the fabric as if through the air.  I dared not look at the asylum door through which we passed, but I felt it was rough-hewn and heavy, and the hinges groaned tiredly.

They gave me my own padded room so that I would not disturb any of the other screaming, moaning, or vegetable-like inmates, and so I would do no harm to myself.  I found a strange comfort in discovering that the pads, though faded and soiled, had once long ago been dyed purple, scarlet, and gold.  I knew my teacher Kalzar had not abandoned me.

 

*****

 

After I had no truths left untold the orderly in my hallway decided that, despite what others felt, I was quite sane.  Since then we have become good friends, conversing amiably every time he passes my door.  I feel quite flattered that I am the inmate with whom he deigns to chat.  In fact, he once told me that a few of my “ravings” had almost made sense.  I chuckled at the comment, and thought to myself, “If only you knew!”

Today I asked my friend for one simple favor: for a pencil and paper.  He said it was a harmless request, and that of course he would procure them for me.  When next he passed my door he handed them through the food slot.

I grabbed at them.  A bright yellow, freshly sharpened pencil with an unused eraser, and one lovely, crisp white piece of blue-lined paper to be the sail of my vessel of insight.  I wrote down my story very carefully in the hope that it will fall into the hands of one who will understand and appreciate what has happened to me.  I plan to entrust this to the orderly upon his return and ask him to share it with everyone.

 

*****

 

            She finished writing, rolled up the manuscript and tied it with a purple, scarlet, and gold ribbon she ripped from one of the pads on the wall.  The orderly passed the door.  She called him, made her final request, and passed the document through the food slot.  The orderly received the gift, in the process brushing his shoulder against the glittering, gem-cut glass doorknob.

Reviews

[Nusquam Esse]

This was interesting, surreal and bordering on madness. Looking over it, I think your main problem is the use of unnecessary adverbs and adjectives. Go through the sentences, and see what words you can take out to streamline your sentences, what can be removed without ruining the ambiance and flow? As it is, these words are dragging the story down like a bog. All too often we think that we need lots of description, a myriad of metaphors (especially with a story which describes something, such as a doorknob), but this is a misconception that many people have. You have to describe the right things, with the right amount of description, or else the story will not flow correctly. And too many metaphors (not really a problem here, just using it as an example) will make the important ones not stand out as much. It is a tough thing to do, but try and kill out some of the passive writing here, and be more bold. I am in the process of lots of revisions of my own work, and this is something I am noticing a lot in much of my older writing. Maybe get a writing analyzer to pick out the frequency of words you are using, and try to kill off the ones that contribute little.