Red Door

A description of the torment of a young girl

The morning sun creeps in behind the tattered blue curtains, illuminating the room as it splashes across my spotless face. Grace wakes up slowly, her pale green eyes adjusting to the light. She used to be so beautiful, those eyes with the power to start wars, now they were empty, empty and broken. As she forces herself out of bed I see the bruises, I see the cuts, I see the torment. Her eyes glance towards me. They pierce straight through me and back to her; she sees the bruises, she sees the cuts. A lonely tear marches down her cheek, taking an eternity to find the floor beneath her feet. She turns away, no loner able to stand the sight of herself through my crystal eyes.

As Grace struggles to pull apart the curtains the sudden light blinds the both of us. She hates the light. I hate the light too. I hate it because it burns her inside, it ignites her pain. It shines on her demons and brings her shadows to life. There is nowhere to hide in the light and Grace feels it burn on the back of her neck. The same burn she feel when he touches her. He is the light and I am the dark. I am Grace's solace; I am her escape, when she looks at me she can see whoever she wants looking back. Today though she sees only herself, a lonely girl standing in the light, afraid of what the day holds.

In that moment she considers the unthinkable. Her eyes turn a hollow shade of grey and her body relaxes, with a fleeting look to me as if to say goodbye, she turns to face the sun, unflinching in its warm embrace, her fear disbanded. In that one moment of madness, that one moment of clarity though, her red door opens. Like a fearful mouse in a crowded room Grace steps out of the light and into the comfort of darkness. Her eyes close momentarily in defeat as a familiar hand reaches out to stroke her neck, causing the searing burn to return to her skin.

"Good morning beautiful" he whispers softly to her, not wanting me to hear. "Breakfast is ready". He kisses her lovingly on her cheek, lingering as their lips lightly brush. Grace looks to me and I assure her, 

"It's okay, one day you will be okay".

I mean what I say to her. She will be okay; nothing can last forever, good or bad. One day she will escape this room. She will grow beyond my horizons, beyond that red door with its sharp gold handles and dirty untold secrets. For now she stares at me and I stare back, watching every change in her tormented face; waiting for her to leave me for him, just as she does for every day of her hopeless life, seeking refuge with the dragon that keeps her prisoner in his castle, the safety of pain.

The room is empty without her. The silence is broken only by the moans of haunting memories and the screams of ghosts. I wonder what they are doing beyond the red door. What he is doing to her. My world exists only inside these four walls. Without Grace I see nothing, I know what is there, it is engrained in my mind, I just cannot see it. So I wait. Hoping that she has left. Left him, left me. But everyday comes back. Through that red door, slowly twisting its sharp golden handle, slowly creeping back into her luxury prison; and I see again. I see fresh pain, fresh anguish but I still see Grace, still alive, still okay, still safe... safe in her hell. Just as she always does, Grace comes home to see me, and once again I can see her.

Today is different. She comes home like she always does but I do not see fresh pain or anguish, I see anger. She's never angry, only sad, broken, defeated. She bursts through her red door, the handle never turning. She stares at me unblinking and I stare back. She screams and I scream, no words, just pure, pain encrusted, noise. I do my best to ask what is wrong but I cannot speak, I can only speak the words she gives to me.

"I hate you!" she cries. "I hate you! I hate him! I hate this room! I hate that red f*****g door and those gold f*****g handles! I hate you!" she looks at me again, a final glance, then runs to the door. She is leaving, she is never coming back! But the gold handle never turns and the red door never opens. She struggles for a second until suddenly she stumbles back. The gold handle shines brightly in her pale hands. She grins as it flies through the air. It hits with a smash. I shatter, falling to the floor, the thousand pieces of my life creating a mosaic, a dance of gleaming fragments in the suns light. Broken just like Grace. I lie on the floor, my life at a shattering end. I catch glimpses of her face, full of life once more, shining in the dark.

"It's okay" I stutter "Today you begin to be okay".

Author's Note

First attempt at a short story. Started as a school assessment. Any thoughts would be appreciated!

Reviews

[Delmar Cooper]

Sam,
I have read your short story,"Red Door." Before reading I noted your comment that this was a first attempt and this story started as a school Assessment. This comment did not prepare me for the quality of your story. I expected something else and I am glad that I did not find that expected thing.

It is always a pleasure to find a story that rises above expectation. Yours is indeed an excellent tale even had you not set the bar so low in your comments. I see that it is written in the present tense - a tense difficult to maintain without lapse, but you kept consistently to it the whole time. Your grammer and spelling are well done and well proofread, one spelling stopped my eye: "loner" for "longer," but perhaps you chose to be experimental in that sentence.

The use of analogy is well done and does not seem "precious" or over the top. I understand the story and take a straightforward message and meaning from it with no lingering questions. In other words you enabled me to easily suspend disbelief and accept the magic mirror premise without effort.

I hope you will post more stories and I hope to see them when you do. This is not the best place in the world for short stories, but your short story redeemed it from the metroplex of poetry. Nice to get out of town once in a while and see the countryside of prose fiction.
Cooper