I've written this chapter a few days ago and I seriously think there's problems in it. For one, I don't know the mechanism of a doorknob lol! Also, I think it doesn't create a sense of loneliness or dread. Any comments or suggestions would be greatly appreciated.
I don't know if I would continue the story. We'll see about that later.
-Arcana-X-
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White. Gray. Slate. White. Tan. Slate. Gray. White.
White.
The blocks of cement moved around as 2 eyes spun in circles, observing the colors. The eyes bounced from one gray wall to another. Again and again. Over and over.
Seeing the blocks over and over was one activity that kept sanity in one person. Seeing as there’s actually something else by your side is enough to keep a person living.
’14 years…’ the person muttered tiredly, her lips moving fluidly yet were chapped.
The walls were the person’s sanctuary. The place where the thoughts that gathered in her mind could be properly assessed and explained.
Everyday, she would walk along the sides of the walls that kept her from the ‘hostility of the world’, as her mother had said. The walls protected her from the world that wasn’t right for her. It was too sadistic and aggressive for a girl like her.
A girl like her….
But she knew why. They don’t know she knows.
But she does.
She stopped as her hand felt a new material. The fibrous material or wood held sharp splinters hanging out from the main beam. Another beam was 5 feet away and a shorter beam held the piece together. What resulted was a walkway to a tall, towering white door with paint peeling and chipping. A small golden doorknob stuck out, contrasting from the dull white paint of the door.
The handle was a normal round one, but the sheen could not be seen by the lack of sunlight. The sheen wouldn’t be seen at all as for many years it was clutched onto to, like a child clinging to her mother. Many imprints of the person’s fingerprints and maybe a silver of blood, if any more light shined through, would cover the doorknob.
One by one. Step by step. The girl picked up her right foot wearily and placed it gently on the creaky steps. A soft creak could be heard echoing, the waves bouncing on the hard cement. But the girl knew no one would hear.
No one was here.
As she went up, she wondered about the door. Like she always did when she went up the stairs. It became quite a routine for her to try once every day.
Finally reaching the last step, the girl’s heart leaped with newfound hope. Maybe today was the day! Maybe! Maybe…the memories began to fill her empty soul. How many times had she tried? How many times had she tried to twist that doorknob fully and hear the bar slide out of its hole, letting the door swing out slowly?
Every day. Every night. Every minute was devoted to the thought of freedom.
Still full of hope, the girl’s skinny pale hand reached out to touch the cold metal and grasp it in her hand.
Slowly, she twisted the knob.
The bar slowly began to move away.
Her heart rate began to increase.
She could hear the gears working to pull the bar away.
Then.
Everything stopped.
Something was stopping it.
The other side…was still locked.
A splatter of water hit the floor with little force, but it shook the room with its echoing sound.
The sound of a tear falling from an eye.
The sound of hope turning into despair.
The sound…of…
The girl once again turned around; her baggy faded skirt flowing against the steps. The hope that was in her soul emptied into the cauldron of her heart, where her emotions were suppressed and constricted.
She wiped the appearing tears away again. Why was she feeling hope? She knew the door would never unlock. The door would never unlock…
…for a girl like her.
Once again, she reached out for the cinder blocks creating the wall. The walls leaded her around the basement, being a guide and teacher to the limited world. Walking beside the walls, she saw her shadow faintly seen on the cold concrete floor. She smiled as she looked at the light source, a little rectangular window up near the ceiling.
She laughed at herself as she remembered the first few years she was here, she tried to open the little window. Of course, she was naïve and hopeful in those days that she would believe anything. Of course, they wouldn’t let any single detail out. They wouldn’t give her an easy escape route. They didn’t want one for her. There wasn’t one.
She looked more closely. She only knew that outside, there would be green fresh grass with maybe dandelions sprinkling yellow among the green. Or maybe the green would turn into a dull yellow symbolizing the slipping life of the grass. Then a blanket of white ‘cotton’ would cover the grass. Finally, the blanket would go away and she could see the fresh green grass again. But is the outside world all grass?
That’s what the window only shown.
They thought she didn’t know. But she why she was here.
Alone. Shaken. Locked from the outside world.
Because of what she is.
I don't know if I would continue the story. We'll see about that later.
-Arcana-X-
--------------------------------------------------------------
White. Gray. Slate. White. Tan. Slate. Gray. White.
White.
The blocks of cement moved around as 2 eyes spun in circles, observing the colors. The eyes bounced from one gray wall to another. Again and again. Over and over.
Seeing the blocks over and over was one activity that kept sanity in one person. Seeing as there’s actually something else by your side is enough to keep a person living.
’14 years…’ the person muttered tiredly, her lips moving fluidly yet were chapped.
The walls were the person’s sanctuary. The place where the thoughts that gathered in her mind could be properly assessed and explained.
Everyday, she would walk along the sides of the walls that kept her from the ‘hostility of the world’, as her mother had said. The walls protected her from the world that wasn’t right for her. It was too sadistic and aggressive for a girl like her.
A girl like her….
But she knew why. They don’t know she knows.
But she does.
She stopped as her hand felt a new material. The fibrous material or wood held sharp splinters hanging out from the main beam. Another beam was 5 feet away and a shorter beam held the piece together. What resulted was a walkway to a tall, towering white door with paint peeling and chipping. A small golden doorknob stuck out, contrasting from the dull white paint of the door.
The handle was a normal round one, but the sheen could not be seen by the lack of sunlight. The sheen wouldn’t be seen at all as for many years it was clutched onto to, like a child clinging to her mother. Many imprints of the person’s fingerprints and maybe a silver of blood, if any more light shined through, would cover the doorknob.
One by one. Step by step. The girl picked up her right foot wearily and placed it gently on the creaky steps. A soft creak could be heard echoing, the waves bouncing on the hard cement. But the girl knew no one would hear.
No one was here.
As she went up, she wondered about the door. Like she always did when she went up the stairs. It became quite a routine for her to try once every day.
Finally reaching the last step, the girl’s heart leaped with newfound hope. Maybe today was the day! Maybe! Maybe…the memories began to fill her empty soul. How many times had she tried? How many times had she tried to twist that doorknob fully and hear the bar slide out of its hole, letting the door swing out slowly?
Every day. Every night. Every minute was devoted to the thought of freedom.
Still full of hope, the girl’s skinny pale hand reached out to touch the cold metal and grasp it in her hand.
Slowly, she twisted the knob.
The bar slowly began to move away.
Her heart rate began to increase.
She could hear the gears working to pull the bar away.
Then.
Everything stopped.
Something was stopping it.
The other side…was still locked.
A splatter of water hit the floor with little force, but it shook the room with its echoing sound.
The sound of a tear falling from an eye.
The sound of hope turning into despair.
The sound…of…
The girl once again turned around; her baggy faded skirt flowing against the steps. The hope that was in her soul emptied into the cauldron of her heart, where her emotions were suppressed and constricted.
She wiped the appearing tears away again. Why was she feeling hope? She knew the door would never unlock. The door would never unlock…
…for a girl like her.
Once again, she reached out for the cinder blocks creating the wall. The walls leaded her around the basement, being a guide and teacher to the limited world. Walking beside the walls, she saw her shadow faintly seen on the cold concrete floor. She smiled as she looked at the light source, a little rectangular window up near the ceiling.
She laughed at herself as she remembered the first few years she was here, she tried to open the little window. Of course, she was naïve and hopeful in those days that she would believe anything. Of course, they wouldn’t let any single detail out. They wouldn’t give her an easy escape route. They didn’t want one for her. There wasn’t one.
She looked more closely. She only knew that outside, there would be green fresh grass with maybe dandelions sprinkling yellow among the green. Or maybe the green would turn into a dull yellow symbolizing the slipping life of the grass. Then a blanket of white ‘cotton’ would cover the grass. Finally, the blanket would go away and she could see the fresh green grass again. But is the outside world all grass?
That’s what the window only shown.
They thought she didn’t know. But she why she was here.
Alone. Shaken. Locked from the outside world.
Because of what she is.
