You know, there's nothing as interesting as a locked door.
Friday, May 30
Let's have a little weekend fun, shall we?
I've been in a writing mode lately, the latest which has been some groovy kids' stories. You know, the types with dragons and giants and kingdoms and heroes. So let's write a story! I'll start us off and you add one sentence at a time to the story in the comments (you remember this game, right?). Come back as often as you'd like this weekend. If you don't, it will be a lame (and very short) story.
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The bright red door with a glinting gold handle mesmerizes your mind even as your feet continue down the road you walk each and every day.
But Great-Grandmother said (with the tiniest of smiles) that she has not seen the key since she was a child.
Her eyes closed briefly, thinking back to the last day she beheld it. The key was small, of brass, and heavier than one might expect. The handle bore a tiny enameled emblem - a bird on a field of blue.
It was a day she would never forget.
The day that she got a peek inside the room with the bright red door with the gold handle.
One look could have held her imagination for awhile, but the journey beyond the door captivated her for her lifetime.
She often relived those moments; she had quietly tip-toed around the partially opened door, breathed deeply and took it all in.
On the far side of the room proudly stood the grand four-poster bed. The dark, luxurious wood was carved in mesmerizing patterns and grooves, swirling up and around, each end appearing as a fingertip reaching for something important.
To the right of the bed was the nightstand. There were three, and only three, items there.
The first item to catch my eye and caused me to hold my breath was a single red candle, its flame glowing brightly in the darkened room.
Resting at the base of the brass candle stand was a thick, brown leather journal, it's page edges tattered and yellowed by years of use.
Her gaze took in the entire room, illumed by the glow of the candle. Every bold piece of furniture bearing the same unique and searching wood pattern of the bed. But it was the journal and the last item on the nightstand that drew her nearer. She had to touch them both.
The small egg was deep blue enamel surrounded by golden swirls That glowed in the candlelight. A small bird perched on top beckoning her to open the egg.
Did she dare? She always seemed to get in trouble when she failed to stop and consider the consequences.
But, like always, she knew she would throw caution to the wind and follow her first impulse. It was in those moments of curiosity and spontaneity that she felt most alive.
In the space of the breath between desire and decision, she felt the room was made for her. The probing figertip patterns of the furniture mirrored her reach for the delicate egg.
The room seemed filled with an indescribable energy, as if it were pressing her forward. The choice to move her hands was no longer hers, but that of the room itself.
And finally, what she had dared never before to touch, was there, curiously heavy, in her hand.
Her eyes filled with tears and her heart skipped a beat even before the top was fully lifted to reveal its treasure within. She stared in wonder for what seemed an eternity. "I can't believe it," she quietly whispered. It was more beautiful than she ever imagined.
THE END
so I know I missed the weekend, but I work weekends!
I was hoping someone would mention Albi the racist dragon from the Conchords. Oh well!
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