Short Stories (cityhumans/statehumans)

"The key-" (Montgomery)

The key would no longer open the door.

Montgomery sat in the closet. The silence of the room was eating away at him. It was so quiet. He longed for even a mouse, a roach, a wasp, something to move. To cause a sound to break this silence.

Mont could break it, but he could not as well. There was a bumb in his throat. His tounge tied down. He would, no, could not speak. He could not cough, sneeze, laugh, breathe. He was scared, no, horrified.

'Something save me'

He thought inside his mind.

'Something move please, God please make something move.'

Nothing moved.

He prayed. In his head. Alone. He would not dare move his hands to fit each other. He was scared. A tear rolled down his cheek.

'Move'

No. He can not.

'Move'

But he can't, he is scared.

'Move now.'

He thought.

Pinkie cracked a sharp movement. He felt it pop. He hadn't moved in so long. It felt good.

He moved another finger. It popped. He, one by one, moved all his fingers.

'Come on stand up. Nothing will hurt you.'

He sat up, several bones and joints popped and cracked. It felt wonderful.

He must get off the bed.

There is something under the bed. It breathes. Mont hears it. The monster. The war. They hate him.

He is wronged.

'Lay down, dont move, lay down, dont move-'

"Rebel-"

Mont hears the monster. It mocks him.

'Get up, no lay, get up, no lay down-'

Another tear rolls down his cheek. He can't speak. The lump in his throat prevents him.

'The door'

The door was there, it mocks him too.

"You will never open me. I am all." The door laughed.

'No'

'I have the key'

He dropped a foot over the ledge. The the next. He was standing. He was walking. He was pulling the gold key out of his black sweater. He was pushing it into the lock.

He turned the key.

The key did not turn.

"Turn" Mont coughed tears flowing down his cheeks.

"TURN LET ME OUT!" Mont screamed pounding a fist on the door.

"MOMMA! MOMMA LET ME OUT PLEASE!"

The door was all.

Mont was none.

This is fact.