The Doors Speak About Me, The Bars Call My Name: Fiction by Peyton Aubin

Ticking of a clock I hear in the background. Every second a tick, the arrow of time as I
see it, flows back into itself with no end in sight. The fog collects on my eyes, blurring my
vision. So I can’t see what happens next, I always can’t. They always do not want me to see it,
the transition.

The room is filled with doors, maybe from my bad choices in life, I can hear them all
whispering about me, about what bad things I’ve done. If only they speak about me in a good
light maybe I would get somewhere. Somewhere other than here. But I must choose one to open,
open the door to somewhere new or right where I started or back to this room. The golden knob
turns and I open the dark brown color of the door, only black, nothing is there. But it’s the same
with all the others, I will not know where it takes me until I step in and so I did.

The bars close and I am alone in the cell. Nothing but concrete, not even a window, so I
could look upon the sad world outside. I quite like it here, I don’t have to hear the doors talk
about me, they know all my secrets. I can’t escape them, but at least in my cage of bars they call
for me. They want me to stay forever, but I can’t for a door creeps in and dares me to open it and
it dares me to leave my safety by the bars. I could not resist for the door would continue forever,
incessantly talking. I turn the knob and open the door to blackness and walk in.

The knife is in my hand covered in blood and the body of a man I did not kill sits on the
ground next to me. The door set me up, but it talked so highly of me. How could this have
happened, I have no recollection of this foul act. It must of been the door. Of course it was, I will
never trust them again. The police have taken me in but I am not scared for the bars await my
arrival, and I will be safe with them.

The door appeared in front of me as I was walking down the street. It is connected to no
building, but I can hear its voice calling for me and saying such nice things about me. But I am
scared, and it is so reassuring, the door. So I turn the knob and open the black wood door, to
nothing but black on the other side like a portal to nothing. The door says step in and so I did.

—Peyton Aubin, Grade 10.