The outline of the door is obscured by ivy, but the sharp-eyed and curious will sometimes catch a glimpse of the knob, if the light falls on it the right way. Not that it’s bright and shiny. Time has dulled its ability to glow, even in passive reflection. But then isn’t that true of all of us who find ourselves here? Nonetheless there’s still a spark, something differentiating enough to render it visible for a space of time every day.
Shall we?
The knob turns smoothly. It’s been cared for and oiled, like the hinges. But you won’t know about the hinges unless you put some muscle into it. Since it opens outwards (a matter of perspective, I know, but we have to start somewhere) it’s possible using only your bare hands. Still, be sure and push hard. Ivy is a pernicious weed, which vengefully claws at its victim should it try to break free.
If you have the stomach for the tearing sounds, you’ll eventually triumph. The door is open now, but the experience of freeing it will undoubtedly recall your own imprisonment. The urge to look back is irresistible, but you must overcome. Think of Orpheus. Think of Lot’s wife.
Does it really matter if our wardens are watching anyway? What will they do, throw you into a baffling purgatory where you’re cut off from everyone and everything you once knew? Ha. We’ve already survived that, so far.
I guess that’s the real issue. The door is cracked open, but the ivy still shrouds what’s beyond. Do you rip through, without knowing if you’ll end up somewhere worse? And once you make a decision, think on this: just how well have the decisions you’ve made worked out for you so far?
This was inspired by Friday's #freewrite prompt: door knob.
Image by bernswaelz.
