The Door

It was a dark and stormy night. The kind of night when you would like to be snuggled in bed with a steaming mug of cocoa. Thankful for the warmth of your blanket and the safety of home!

Knock, knock, knock!

I honestly do not want to answer that door. It is so comfortable here, and a little scary out there. I think I will ignore it.

Knock, Knock, Knock!

Oh please, don't make do this. The process of reaching the door is too tedious itself. When I remove the blanket, the chilly wind attacks my just warmed back, the cold floor pricks my sole and the sound of lightning raises goosebumps on my arms and neck. On every corner I am scared to look around, what if....!!

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

What is with the incessant knocking? Can't they tell I am not there, or ignoring them? I know it can be the robbers, the rapists, the ghosts... I do not want to open the door. I am not foolish to open it and be hurt. Let them knock, I am not moving from this place. What a time to show up. If you are a decent person, go away, come when its safer and clearer.

Knock knock, Knock knock, Knock knock!

They will not let me rest. I have to go answer them. I take in a deep breath, and take off the blanket. Wrapping my arms around me to hold back what little heat I can, I slowly make my way downstairs. I hear the wind whooshing, and the clouds rumbling. I dare not look at the mirrors and the shadows. I keep looking back, I curse myself for having left the soft, feathery bed and its warmth.

Knock Knock, Knock Knock, Knock Knock!

Oh! All right, I am coming. I increase my speed a little. I have reached the living room now. As I walk towards the door my heart beats faster, my mouth is suddenly dry! I lift a quivering arm and place it on the cold, metal handle. I falter, I cannot do this.

KNOCK KNOCK.

I jump in fright. A bead of cold sweat runs down my forehead. But I do not want to be startled again. With the little strength surging through me, screaming at my legs to run away while I could, I yank open the door. With a warm smile my mother looks at me from the door... I almost weep in relief!

And then I weep, in realisation. Life is too short to wallow in misery and make pity the soft bed on which I lay. There was no time to sit and coddle the hurt and the tears and drink in my sorry tales. To continue holding those little things as an answer to reject the new ones, was a poor excuse, the excuse of a coward.

Outside was a bright, sunny day... the kind when you would like to be out in the open air, drinking the sun and absorbing every fragrance, every delight, the promise of a spring!