The blackness was creeping in slowly but surely, obscuring colours, obliterating life, engulfing my thoughts, weighing me down like death. I gasp for breath, running around in circles, stuck in a vortex of nothingness. I am as alone as I would be in the bleakness of space and cold. How much darkness can I take without any hope of light?

It is then that I see it, the door that leads to nothing, that leads to something, the only possibility of escape, however faint. I run towards it, but no matter how much I run, it does not get any closer. Its a race against the darkness, a race against hopelessness, a race against desolation, because somehow I know that if I don’t reach it now, I may never.

Then I hear the caw, I see the crow, seated atop the door, at the precipice of something. She’s staring at me with lazer sharp intelligence. “Help me!” I implore.

“What do you need?”

“To reach the door.”


“To get out.”


“So I can breathe.”

“Are you not breathing now?”

“I’m panting.”


“Because I’m running.”


“Because I’m scared.”


“I’m scared of the dark unknown.”

“Then stop and know.”

Something in her tone gives me the strength to stop.

So I stop, sit down, open my eyes, open my mind. I look. I feel.

The leaves are a soft cushion below me, the winds have calmed down into a gentle caress. Around me graceful shadows wave like ballerinas stretching, dressed in gowns of black, and charcoal, and slate, and pewter, and greys. I am suddenly awake to the beauty hidden in their subtle differences, in their textures.

I do not even feel the heaviness lift, or the sun rise, or the door open.

Suddenly I’m not afraid.


In response to Michelle’s Photo-Fiction #93 challenge.

4 thoughts on “The Door

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