The Locked Door

A (fore)word of advice:

This is not a story in the general sense of the word. The plot makes little to no sense, characters should be seen as “skeletal archetypes of emptiness”, and the text may contain words invented by the author. As such, consider the following a self-indulgent word-play intended to create ambience and to provoke thought, rather than purely narrate. Enjoy, please.

The Locked Door

In a large marble hallway there lied a very strange door. First and foremost, it was the most fantastic, ornate and shiny door ever seen by man, as huge and magnificent as any of the wonders of the world. But what was bothering the tiny watcher that stood in the sea of marble paving-stones, whom we may name Lita, was that in apparent contradiction to all laws of architecture, the said door was in the ceiling. The girl had spent most of her life gazing at the mysterious gateway, wondering what wonderful marvels would lurk beyond its ivory knob.

Until, of course, the providential one day, one apparently like many others, when from out of nowhere suddenly appeared the old wise man. Although in post-modernist, deconstructivist thought age is no longer considered synonymous with wisdom, Lita was unaware of post-modernism entirely, and heeded his words. Which went as follows:

“Heed me, for I am Noskaj of Dnalreven! I know you, little girl, and am aware that you covet the knowledge of what it is that hides behind that door, and that I can tell you! Beyond lies Syrubdac, the fabled land of chocolate and candy where everything is eatable. If you wish to go there, only magic mushrooms will allow you to take the journey and unlock the door. Find them in your garden outside. Farewell!”

Now, since Lita was eight years old, you might imagine the thrill such a quest would provide, and not surprisingly she pranced and ponied hurriedly to her little garden. Upon arriving, she went pass the great oak and next to the grove of talking crickets she found the aforementioned supernatural fungi. And what a sight they were, sparkly and fizzy and colour-changing, two small happy eyes and the cuddliest of smiles in each of them. She buzzed some words into the ear of the one closest to her, and in response the mushroom smiled, if possible, even more. That was is only answer since, as we all know, fungi don’t speak. She proceeded to carefully deroot him, naming him Billy (or was that his real name and he somehow had passed this information on to Lita? We may never know…). Mission accomplished, they strolled calmly back to the house, discussing in the meantime the metaphysics of being (apparently Billy had studied Philosophy, and she had always been curious about this particular subject).

On arriving at the room, Billy in some way commanded her to stop (Magically? Telepathically? Mushroom instruction manual? My fellow reader, we are all aware mushrooms possess uncanny powers, but I’m afraid this will remain a mystery…), since a ritual was necessary in order for her to reach the door. Lita paid close attention, for by all accounts this kingdom of candy, this Syrubdac, would be worth any possible sacrifice. As such, she carefully removed all her clothing, spread sweet almond oil over her smooth pre-adolescent skin, and inserted Billy the mushroom all the way in a certain part of her anatomy, undisclosed here for obvious reasons. She felt exhilarated by the warm, funny and very pleasant feeling between her legs, but she had no more clue of how to reach the door than before.

It was at this point that the wise man, who had been discretely watching from behind a column, reappeared sporting a wide grin, probably confirming the suspicion I hope you, the reader, has had that the old wise man was actually an old wise peeping paedophile. His tone was less epic than before in his current approach. “My dear, I want you to know that I have not fooled you, and think what you will of me, you can still reach the door. Look, it is opening even as we speak. To reach it, and I know it sounds cliché, you need only believe yourself. Farewell!” He disappeared again, taking his camcorder, and Lita gaped at the white light emanating from the once closed door. Gathering all her courage, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, believed in herself as hard as she could, and jumped.

THE END (?)