The exercise:
Write about something that is: locked.
Our latest house guests headed out this morning, leaving Kat and I on our own for five whole days before the next set arrive.
Hard to believe we're nearly into September already, isn't it?
Mine:
I'd only been in the hotel room for about five minutes before my curiosity had kicked into overdrive. It was not a large space, really just big enough for the single bed at its center, the TV with its wobbly stand against the wall, and the cramped bathroom stuffed into a corner.
But it was large enough to have two extra doors within its confines.
Neither of which could be unlocked with the key the nicotine infused desk clerk had handed over after I had paid for my night's stay. No, that was strictly for the door that stood between me and the dark, stuffy hallway outside.
The doors did not connect to other suites; the architecture was all wrong for that. Nor did they lead to a fire escape or anything that could be seen from the exterior of the building.
I had checked that very thoroughly already. I was somewhat surprised that nobody had called the cops on me, actually.
Asking the clerk was an option, but not a very good one in my mind. If there was something secretive or sinister about either extra door he certainly wasn't about to let me in on it. No, I was going to have to figure it out for myself.
Thankfully, the timing was going to work out perfectly. Checkout wasn't until 10 am the next morning, which was conveniently one hour after the hardware store across the street would be open for business.
With all those house-guests you'll be running your own guest-house soon! You'll be needing to plan to have more children though, to keep the staff-costs down :)
ReplyDeleteHuh, those two extra doors are intriguing. And why two? Given your narrator's choice of how to get them open though, I hope there's not a reason to keep them locked....
Locked
Light does not penetrate this box,
although sounds are heard. Far off
feet walk in the world, and remind me
that I too, once, was free.
Invisible polished walls defeat
the scrabble of my fingernails.
A keyhole offers briefly hope
but it's darker on the other side.
It grows colder and things slow down
until it's just too hard to move.
Locked in this box, punishment
for a crime I can't remember.
Okay, so I just moved house. Typical start to a typical story. And there’s this padlock, no you say, not a padlock. Well, yes I’ve come across this very puzzling locked door and it just won’t budge! I’ve searched for the key, no luck, kicked it with my toughest shoes, bad luck and have just finished an out of the blue email to my grandfather to see if I can borrow that flame throwing thingy-mah-jiggy. You know, some kind of torch. And now I’m pondering over a nice hot cup of tea, sitting on my old threadbare sofa bed in my all new skylight office. Stuck. Me, a well to do, busy high end business woman who moved to the city and what has got me so worked up? A door with a secret behind it. It’s probably nothing. No, less than nothing. Some blocked up back stairwell in my apartment building where only the rats dare to go anymore. Some dingy cupboard where the caretaker used to stash his card collection. Something dead uninteresting. So why is it that what makes me so infuriated is that palm sized piece of metal, the only thing that stands in my way and I can’t get the better of it?
ReplyDeleteGreg - we're actually hoping that once we build our bigger, likely for the rest of our lives, home that we can use this one as a guest house. We'll see about the staff issue :P
ReplyDeleteGreat imagery and atmosphere in your poem, I really enjoyed that one.
Jess - welcome to the blog! (If this isn't your first time sharing and I've already welcomed you, please forgive me my terrible memory).
I can just feel the frustration oozing off your narrator. Very intriguing start, I'd love to read more!