DOORS

DOORS

The end. A concept that can be interpreted in many different ways. To you, it is the end of YOUR world. Maybe. The end of your planet, maybe? Your home? Or even, your life?

It’s understandable to think that the end ends with you. It’s all you know. “ I think, therefore, I AM.” Very intelligent words.

But I’m not here to tell you about YOUR end. YOUR end is only known by you.

This is a story about mine.

The leaves fell like synchronized swimmers. One after another, in a perfect wave, these pieces of the sky took themselves out of the puzzle of boughs. They were the colors of a flame, of a warm night, a happy(but solemn) feeling that only a loved one can give to you in a sugared kiss. A blanket was laid out before feet, socked and shoed. The leaves crackled like a fire, hissed like water poured on a stove. The feet were running. They did not want to stop the flow of movement that propelled them forward on a path, but a tired mind could not keep up. That mind, racing, running, like the feet, suddenly gave up. And there I was.

A bus roared ahead, billowing smoke out from behind. Defeat was a common word to this person, Me. I stood in the middle of the cracked street, the leaves still. I started to cry a bit. I’m lying. I cried a lot.

Out in the middle of that street, those socked and shoed feet trembled and stumbled. They turned around, heading in the direction of home.

The leaves rustled. I looked up. The squealing of tires, and then sudden pain. I heard little, and said little. And then as quickly as it came, it went. And then, I was gone.