| Commentary and Philosophy Flash Fiction posted November 12, 2018 | Chapters: |
...18 19 -20- 
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fainter and fainter until ...
A chapter in the book Short Stories and Flash
Echoings
by michaelcahill
The Door Slammed Contest Winner
The door slammed echoing down the long hall. An old lady sits on the edge of her bed lost to thought.
The hall is about one hundred and twenty feet in length. It's wide enough for a drunk to walk down without bouncing off the walls. There are somewhere between fourteen and eighteen doors, split between both sides. I assume each door leads to a room just like my own. I have time to consider such things and such things are about all there is for me to consider in my current situation.
I hear a knocking far down the hall. It must be Harold. He's come to pick up his date for the prom. lucky her. Such a handsome man ...
Oh dear, is that Monica crying? I wish I could reach her. Where is her mommy? She's skinned her knee, I bet.
"Someone! Someone must help her. Monica's skinned her knee and her mommy's nowhere to be found ... Open the door. Can't you hear her cry?"
Nearby, one or two doors down, is a widow given to long bouts of grief. She mourns the loss of her husband, he who did everything for her. He, who left her helpless against the world. How discourteous to leave her in such a state. Kindness dictates that the helpless should go first. He knew that well, but defined kindness in a cruel way.
A ballerina lives at the far end of the hall. I hear her scream in pain as she looks out the window at the seasons changing. How lovely the Spring is when it fills her window with colour. Life calls out to her, and she longs to answer. But the metronome beckons her to dance.
The door is open, again, to that room, the one with the bellicose gal who likes to pontificate. I could swat her behind if I could only get out of this room. On and on and on she goes about the future and its bright galaxy of tomorrows. And oh, the dreams spring forth like a fountain of jewels to replace the drab stars in the sky, all there to pluck like cherries from a tree. Nothing can shut the liar up. I wonder if anyone is listening? I hope not. I wish I could give them a piece of my mind … I truly do.
Maybe today, one of these people will take me for a walk down the long hall. But maybe, there's no hall at all. This room is unfamiliar. I must've had an accident, or took ill ... or took a pill. Jack and Jill went up the hill and ... The door creaks open as the mysterious stranger creeps in. She smiles nervously as though wondering what I might say. She didn't expect to find me here, I'm guessing.
"Who are you? What is this place? Did you put me here?"
"It's Monica, Mom, to visit. Don't you remember?"
"Yes, of course I do. I studied the ballet when I was younger, you know. It was hard on my toes though. I never liked it. Are you a dancer?"
The door slammed echoing down the long hall. An old lady sits on the edge of her bed lost to thought.
The hall is about one hundred and twenty feet in length. It's wide enough for a drunk to walk down without bouncing off the walls. There are somewhere between fourteen and eighteen doors, split between both sides. I assume each door leads to a room just like my own. I have time to consider such things and such things are about all there is for me to consider in my current situation.
I hear a knocking far down the hall. It must be Harold. He's come to pick up his date for the prom. lucky her. Such a handsome man ...
Oh dear, is that Monica crying? I wish I could reach her. Where is her mommy? She's skinned her knee, I bet.
"Someone! Someone must help her. Monica's skinned her knee and her mommy's nowhere to be found ... Open the door. Can't you hear her cry?"
Nearby, one or two doors down, is a widow given to long bouts of grief. She mourns the loss of her husband, he who did everything for her. He, who left her helpless against the world. How discourteous to leave her in such a state. Kindness dictates that the helpless should go first. He knew that well, but defined kindness in a cruel way.
A ballerina lives at the far end of the hall. I hear her scream in pain as she looks out the window at the seasons changing. How lovely the Spring is when it fills her window with colour. Life calls out to her, and she longs to answer. But the metronome beckons her to dance.
The door is open, again, to that room, the one with the bellicose gal who likes to pontificate. I could swat her behind if I could only get out of this room. On and on and on she goes about the future and its bright galaxy of tomorrows. And oh, the dreams spring forth like a fountain of jewels to replace the drab stars in the sky, all there to pluck like cherries from a tree. Nothing can shut the liar up. I wonder if anyone is listening? I hope not. I wish I could give them a piece of my mind … I truly do.
Maybe today, one of these people will take me for a walk down the long hall. But maybe, there's no hall at all. This room is unfamiliar. I must've had an accident, or took ill ... or took a pill. Jack and Jill went up the hill and ... The door creaks open as the mysterious stranger creeps in. She smiles nervously as though wondering what I might say. She didn't expect to find me here, I'm guessing.
"Who are you? What is this place? Did you put me here?"
"It's Monica, Mom, to visit. Don't you remember?"
"Yes, of course I do. I studied the ballet when I was younger, you know. It was hard on my toes though. I never liked it. Are you a dancer?"
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Writing Prompt Write a story that starts with this sentence: The door slammed, echoing down the long hall.. The catch is this must be flash fiction. So the story should be between 100 and 1,000 words. |
The Door Slammed Contest Winner |
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