In a Room with No Doors

A teenage boy walks through a door and out of what he knows as reality.

            I read the writing on the walls one more time. It says Martin Jefferies came inside April of 2008. What’s weird is that I’m Martin Jefferies and I do not remember writing that. Every day I read it again and analyze the handwriting looking for signs that it isn’t my own. There aren’t any. It is quite definitely my writing, but that raises more questions than it answers.

            If it’s my handwriting then why don’t I remember it? I never left this room since I arrived. There is no way I could, that I know of. There isn’t any door, and there aren’t any windows. I simply walked through a closet door in my high school one day and found myself here, with no more door behind me.

            Now I just wait for a new door to show up. It has to show up sometime, right? Either that, or I’ll wake up. I assumed I was going to wake up a long time ago, but I obviously never did. You spend enough nights going to sleep and expecting to wake up somewhere else but after a while, it starts to really wear on you.

            I’ve gone to bed here so many times to know that I’m not going to wake up in my bed some day. I’m not crazy. I know I can’t expect something new to happen from something I’ve done a thousand times.

            So I hope the door will show up sometime. Until then, I’ll just wait. I’m going to bed now. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll wake up in my bed back home tomorrow morning, and wake up out of this horrid nightmare.

 

                                                *                        *                        *

 

            A yawn and a stretch of the arms couples with a survey of my surroundings, and it’s obvious that I’m still in the room. That much is obvious, but one thing is different. There’s a door over there.

            A door? A door!

            I jump to my feet and take a step towards the door, but I notice something is different. There’s a man here. He is stepping out of the door now, pulling it closed and I can see in his eyes that he is afraid of me. I lunge towards him, but my knuckles catch the side of the door and start to bleed.

            He tries to pull the door shut, but my hand is stuck between the door and the frame, and yet he keeps pulling  I can feel blood vessels bursting in my hand as it bruises and the bones start to break.

            He can’t stop me. With a great push, I force my way through the door and into his chest, the force of which knocks him and myself over, rolling head over heel out the door.

            After a short tumble, we stop and my eye catches the date on a newspaper rolling by. The date reads, April 12, 2011.

            But that’s impossible. I’d have to be crazy to believe it wasn’t.

Reviews

[smkrwt]

nice little story, short and interesting.

[Morgan]

I'm sooo sorry for being late with this!

This was okay. I didn't like the end; it was a little strange and hard to undertand. Who was the man?

[A.D. Wilson]

Very unusual story. I like the twist at the end, but overall, the end feels a little abrupt. I wonder why the man didn't want to let the kid out of the room?