He gazed at the cloud. The one that had always been there for him every morning. Its lofty position had never been swayed. Not even the strongest of storms could move it an inch. He was certain that God had specially created that cloud just for him. He smiled regrettably. He was going to miss it much.
He looked at all around him: the four walls and the ceiling and the floor, and the little window, and of course, the door. Others labelled this place the cell. He preferred it to be called his castle. A place where he could stand tall amongst the rest. A fortress against all odds of life. A shelter where he could be forgotten. He was certain that God had specially created this castle just for him. He grinned lamentably. He was going to miss it much.
He felt the breeze moving through the grills. It gently slapped on his face. It smelled really good. It carried with it the aroma of the charming lake. He could almost always feel the vibes of the lives beneath the surface of the glistening waters. He was certain that God had specially created the lake just for him. He tittered remorsefully. He was going to miss it much.
The door opened. Everything happened swiftly from there.
He stood. He walked. He did not turn round to take a last look at them. They were of the past. He was looking into the future. The promise of life would be fulfilled soon. He was ready.
Closed.
Tied.
Released.
Opened.
(a simple tribute to Mr Nabokov)
doors left open (defunct) 