Closed Doors

The door closed behind her and she was left alone, wondering. The dry click of the door closing shut remained hanging in the air – suspended in its own void. Nothing challenged it. It just kept hanging there.
The curtains were drawn but she knew there was a world outside teeming with everyday life. Right about now the street lights would come on and shed their pale light into the darkness. It was probably raining too. On the empty back streets the fallen leaves would pile up behind dustbins and alongside fences and walls providing just enough shelter from the wind to keep them there.

She listened, and found that the only sound that met her was the chaotic humdrum of thoughts in her head. She pushed them away not wanting to know what they were all about. It didn't matter. Or maybe it did, but she didn't want it to matter.
She looked at the closed door, imagining it staring back at her with dull lifeless eyes completely vacant of expression and compassion. And for a moment she hated that door. For a moment it seemed perfectly reasonable to blame it on this barrier keeping her locked in.
There was of course always the option of opening the door. The choice to place her hand on the handle and push down until another click revealed that this seal was now broken. She toyed with the idea and allowed an array of scenarios to play out in her head; each of them depicting a new variation of what she would find behind the door.
She listened for footsteps on the other side. She listened for any sound that would tell her that she was not alone. A few times she thought she heard something… she held her breath and listened harder, but in vain. If it had indeed been there it was gone again… but much more likely… it was just her imagination conjuring it up. It wasn't really there.

She could stay behind the closed door. And she probably would. It was better that way. It's not the easy solution she wanted. But it was better. For now at least.
She stared at the closed door in disbelief, and knew that in all likelihood she would end up slowly and surely removing the walls around her and rebuild them without being caged in by them. In all likelihood, she would never allow herself to make use of the door. In fact, she would probably seek to place each of the walls that held her captive between herself and that door. Just to avoid using it. So convinced was she that it would lead nowhere… so convinced were she that once – if ever – opened she would find just another empty room. Yet still she could not take her eyes off it. It was familiar to her… safe somehow, despite its lack of purpose.
It would probably be a while before courage conquered comfort, she knew that all too well and settled in the far corner, still staring at the door. Perhaps seeking to make sure it did not suddenly tear loose from its fittings and sneak up on her. It was after all, a temptation…  
Sometimes closed doors are meant to be just that. A means to prevent retreat and repetition of old mistakes. I guess my biggest problem is… I absolutely HATE closed doors…. whatever they may lead to.
Closed Doors

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