My English Writing Assignments

The Door.

The scenery whipped past, leaves scratching at my face and arms, my dress, ragged and my heart was in shatters. I can't understand how I got here. Everything was perfect. I was perfect. The air whistled in my ears and I felt a small cut leak warm blood down my cheek. Or was it my own tears? I'm not sure.

    The sky had gone dark and I no longer knew how long I had been running. My head hurt, my eyes stung, and muscles sore. I couldn't properly see ahead of me, and thus didn't notice the aged stone wall as I rose before me. Abruptly, my entire body slammed into the moss-covered stone, and my head rang. I trotted backwards, ears ringing, vision white. The fog in my mind cleared for a moment, and for that one moment, I saw it all again clear detail, the banquet, my beautiful wife, the shimmering lights and shifting guests that illuminated our palace. The black smudge of a person against the wall who went unnoticed until it came for me. I drop to my knees. My eyes flood, and my mind, unable to handle the masses of blood, the face of my beloved as the life the life drained from her eyes, fogs over once again, offering me what little solace it can by allowing me to not deal with this at the moment. I want to scream. But I am afraid. I'm afraid it will hear. I stand shakily to investigate the mass which had blocked my path. Gently rubbing my hands along it, I feel the slight indent, and then a change in material. Wood. A door. Taking a deep breath, I push gently at the door and it gives only slightly. Deciding that anywhere was better than the middle of a dark, unknown forest in the middle of the dak, I press harder, and the door swings open. I slide over to the opening and step inside, into the darkness.

Feeling around with my hands like the blind, I manage to fumble the rotting door closed. I decidedly choose not to think about what might be living on that side of the door, eating away, that was just give access to my soft, unworked hands. Cringing, I pulled away from the door, and walked away slowly, hands before me, trying with a desperation to find something of use. My hip knocks into a solid table. I heard something on the table rock with motion. Excitedly, I fumble across its surface, hoping for some kind of light. a spark of hope lights through me as my hands close around a lantern. I lightly touch around the area the lantern was to discover some flint stones. Failkin's lights, this is a miracle!  I place the lantern back on the table, and pray that there is some wick or oil within it to catch the spark. Pressing the rocks together, I strike once. Twice. A third time. A spark then bursts too life and the lantern catches it. A flame ignites and begins to waver slightly. I breath out shakily.

At last. I think to myself. Now that I had some light, I look around my potential new adobe. It is made mostly of stone, and well equipped. The walls are entirely stone ̶ except the door ̶ and there is a small kitchen about three paces from where I stand. The room, in fact, is quite large, the ceiling is cavernous, and yet it seems there is another floor, as there are stairs leading to an unknown place. Presumably the top floor. I walk slyly towards the kitchen. Hm, it seems there has not been a resident in this place for quite some time. Deciding that I don't really care if there is any proper danger, I begin to walk normally into the kitchen. Also well-equipped, the kitchen is filled with all manner of preserved foods ̶ almost as if it were a tore house. Fruits and berries, likely picked from the forest that surrounded this building, and meats that appeared neither rabbit, nor pig, which would be what one would hunt in the forest. Perhaps it was a bear or deer. Although, I had been told many times that bear wasn't a pleasant to eat, or catch. Not worth trouble apparently.

After some more investigation, I find what can be easily connected to a meal and eat what little I can keep down. I hope this preserved food doesn't kill me. My dearest had never trusted this stuff. I set it aside, despite my stomach's protest, and pick up the lantern on my way up the stairs. All I want is to sleep. I climb the stairs faintly hoping that something lies at the top that would simply end this. To end me.

I peak above to discover no such relief. Sighing, I collect the remaining of my gown in my hand and step over the threshold. The lantern in my hand reveals an old room considerably smaller than the bottom floor ̶ there is a fairly well-preserved bed to one side, a desk and a chair with writing equipment placed neatly upon it, and a candle sitting towards the top, obviously intended for use while writing. The desk has a drawer that I decided to investigate later above the writing desk there is a cleverly placed window that lets in the cool air of the night without freezing the room. There is a small chest to the other side of the room, and a mirror leaned against a wall. I have a mind to shatter it, for fear that I may see myself at the moment. Covered from head to toe in cuts and bruises, blood staining my dress and my face, even my hands, much of it not even my own. Tears pool anew into my eyes, but I wipe them away. I must keep going forward.

    I place the lamp onto the desk and walk over to the bed. Dusting off the sheets and deeming it decent, I take the flint which I had placed in my pocket onto the desk beside the lantern, and blow out the dancing flame. Pulling the decaying sheets over my shaking body, I lay down in the bed. And I soon fall into a restless sleep, brimming with violence.