The Man's Fear of Unopened Doors

All Rights Reserved ©

Summary

A man finds himself in a train station. There, he finds issues leaking from the cracks of the past.

Genre:
Drama
Author:
ccsailo
Status:
Ongoing
Chapters:
1
Rating:
n/a
Age Rating:
18+

1

I drew upon the humble earth for a breath which left my nostrils as a distressed wind, turned foggy by the winter cold. The cool force of nature soon morphed to snow, and I, a young man with arrogant eyes, was cold, accompanied only by a dark tinge of loneliness.

Silence stuck to my cold ears like snow to the metal bench I sat upon. In fact, silence was the only force that toppled the brittle winter; but this silence lay oddly. It sang its soundless song in a place where sound lay abundantly on usual occasions: the train station.

And I sat at the station, then sat some more; the silence, now a brooding entity, began to consume me. I silently begged for a sound, but none rang. I shouted, but it was lost in white. Then, I began to ponder the silence, and as I did my head began to produce undefined darkness; infinite possibilities lay within it, and my mind recklessly raced through this intimidating, unknown space. My past, present and future became a singular hole that I could leap through, a singular oddity that ran like a mad river. My breathing was hard, my face numb, my head pounding. I dropped off the bench in surrender.

Then came a whisper of wind. The steam-filled beat of a train followed, shattering the silence.

It huffed a mighty huff then screeched, sputtering rapidly to stationary position in which its right side faced the bench and I. My chilled body and mind began to thaw at the metallic chimes of the train, which seemed highly inviting and warm.

I ,with a keen ear and a half-frozen heart, troubled and cold, walked towards the train and entered. The malice of my head ceased leaking, and reality ensued, overlapping the plodding disintegration of my abundance of horror-like fiction. I think. Or I hope, I think.

The silence concluded its hellish song before it could utterly lead to fiercest force, which lay deeply in my head’s venom. The thought of such a complex force perplexed my assimilating mind, still soggy with fiction, as I sat upon the part of the train’s bench that opposed the entrance and slightly to the right. After some time of being seated, and of unclear thoughts cleansing, the final puzzle piece was placed.

This force ends life; it consumes confidence; it lay within the dark to prey on the weak-minded. It is the beginning, and an intelligent individual (or an ignorant fool for this matter) should know that it will be the end: one’s own thoughts.

With a swift, violent lurch, the train began to run its course that was laid out since the beginning.

2

The train knew its course, but I never did.

In the train I sat and reflected upon my day’s series of undesirable events. From this, my face was still moist, eyes strained and glossy; my right hand still swollen on the two largest knuckles; and my heart was filled with self-pity, which I had, quite sadly, convinced myself was uncontrolled, unbiased self-sorrow. What a pitiful sight I was to behold!

So I sat, with nothing to see outside the train's windows but a blanket of snow and its omnipresent guardian: the dark shroud of a starless sky. And nothing to hear but muffled sounds of the train’s engine. After minutes of the gentle calm, filled only by the train’s wondrous, metallic sounds, the gentle pops and groans of the engine began to take a tiring toll on me. The first stage started with a drowsy outburst and ended with liquified thoughts. During the second stage, I melded unto the bench with every rich breath I took, becoming a bench-human alloy of sorts. Then, upon the final stage, the shields of my eyes heavily idled (similar to the likes of a large stomach hung over a man’s belt line) until they covered my vision. Soon a deep sleep engaged; the engine still played its wonderful music; and I dreamt of an irretrievable point in time, only limited by the inaccessibility of time travel, and my biased memories.

I warmly, and comfortably, awoke wrapped in the comfort of blankets and sheets to my mother's scream. It was not an angry one, but one that contained a melancholy plea; a pitiful woe. Following this was a loud pop, the sound of a hand striking human skin. And then mother yelped and cried a sad fit. It seemed to be not a cry for hurt, but one for betrayal; one for for emotional pain rather than physical.

I unwrapped myself from the cocoon of blankets and began to walk, intrigued and fearful to inspect the scene. And as I walked out my room and down the hall, now filled with festive lights, holly and a mistletoe at the mouth, which was all too familiar, I heard muffled, manly grunts and screams. My father seemed to be guilty of the outbursts. I shivered a slight bodily quiver which yielded terror within itself.

As the the hall ended, the mouth led to our family’s lovely living room. It was quaint yet festive due to the season. All the decorations seemed to glorify and compliment the holy grail of the house: a small tree with multi-colored lights which reflected off the fragile ornaments and silver tinsel: it was beautiful.

For a moment I forgot about the current objective, as I was lost in the tree’s wonder. Then, a desperate cry leaked from my mothers heart. Muffled grunts and screams ate at my soul; and the beauty of the tree broke.

My parents were everything to my young self, but now they were imperfect, sad creatures; they were selfish and hateful. And then, in a hollow fashion, I looked to the left of the tree: a small coffee table lay, and upon it was a mostly-empty bottle that leaked some liquid.

It must be some mind altering poison, I thought, trying to justify the violent mood of the damned night.

After examining the bottle, I looked to the door in front of the tree. I walked to it, my parents’ room. And then, as I got there, my ear parallel and upon the door, my hand rested on the knob: it was unusually chilled: it stang. I listened.

My mother said: Do you really want this?

My father replied: Quiet!

And then a hard slap (I assumed it was to the face) stopped my mother from a clever rebuttal.

I started shaking, and fearfully pondered: who is this monster pretending to be my dad?

After all, my father had only yelled at me upon occasion, and had never laid a hand upon me in a violent or threatening manner.

I stopped. Then, from my head, a cold wave emitted to my toes. From there, a hot wave sprang back to the origin of the chill. The energy became dense, then became a sea, and I, a hopeless sailor, began to see a happy, perfect family as a facade; my mother was in danger because of my oh so loving father! I wanted to aid my mother; the light in the darkness; the meaning to those nine years of my life.

I thought: But I’m only a child. What could I do? What use would I be?

And with a troubled heart, conflicting back and forth, I decided that it was a dispute for them to solve; a problem for no child to dabble in. And with a content heart, filled with excuses, I traveled back past the tree and down the hall and entered my room. I lept on my bed and blanketed myself from the night's oddly cold air. After about twenty minutes of reflecting upon the scene I closed my eyes, and sleep ensued.

And that was when my life’s role was appointed to me. I was to play the man who wanted to help; he who dared to, but did not; the one who is more guilty than the tormentor. I was to be the man with the key to unlock all locks, but scared too open doors that could not be closed.

Continue Reading
Further Recommendations

Lorraine Lazaro Mendoza: None, its exciting, there is a good story that u continue reading as you want to finish to know what is the ending.

Joseph Kuklinski: It is a wonderful story, w great characters

Myliah Van Bavel: I love this book and how it tugs on your heartstrings and keeps you on your toes.

Rebecca Yearian: This made me sad that she didnt even read the letter before judging him i hope everything ends up alright

Ree: Only if they end up together, I know he was an asshole, for hiding his disease, yet he helped her knowing her passion for music, he took out the best of her, he stood by her when everyone seemed to blame her..Miss Author, I respect your decision, I liked whole concept of this Novel, it's just it'...

Shanita taylor: I love this book so far. I would recommend it to everybody.

Casey Box: Must read if you read the first book

Cassie Monroe: Every story is so sexy and exhilarating! I love these so much!

Novi Agustina: It's one of the sweet story I've ever read. I just love it.

More Recommendations

Dnijah P: Good sorry so far can't wait to see what happens next.

Tianna: This book took me on an emotional roller coaster but it was worth it in the end. I was so glad that Ronnie got her happy ending after all. The plot’s good and it’s well written. 2000/100

Yolie: Got me laughing. So good !

Barbara Jackson: Love this story!

oldieagoldie: I honestly liked everything about the book. There were a few grammar mistakes, but it did not take away from the plot. I would recommend this book to somebody who wants a good laugh with a side of tears. This book received five stars from me and kudos to the author.

maj1394: Don’t start a story on her and then move it to a app honestly I really liked this story but doing what you are doing by making people pay more for a book then it is on amazon is fucked so tired of this I miss the old days when people wrote books just for the love of it it’s sad and that app you p...

About Us:

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered book publisher, offering an online community for talented authors and book lovers. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books you love the most based on crowd wisdom.