literature

The Blue Door

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Literature Text

Shards of dismembered crockery amass beneath her sneakers, crunching and snapping as she walks across the empty room. The only colour is the door, its cobalt timbers iridescent amongst the stark desolation where vivacity comes to die. His back, stone greeting polyester, stood tall in his seat, staring blankly towards the door.

As the chill catches her breath, shivers wracking her malnourished body, he makes no sound. No breath visibly escapes the grey lips hiding amidst the pallid skin; no shakes nor twitches nor stretches.
She peers at the door, a slight rotation that takes over her whole form as she wonders what awaits those who choose the blue door. Its brass handle welcomes her and moves effortlessly against her fingertips.

A golden glow and cloaking warmth leak from the opening, beckoning her forward.

"One last glance" she thinks as she steps into the doorway; screaming as he is standing an inch from her, limbs contorted awkwardly about him. The glazed look is gone, replaced by a demented stare and a chilling smile.

      “You cannot go. The blue door is not for the living” his voice chimes.



Two chairs sit in a row in a small white room without windows. The only colour comes from the door, its vivid emerald paint livening up the icy backdrop.
Just something that came out of me. Didn't think I was this creepy but here we are.
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