Finding Her Forte

The Choice November 27, 2011

A grey, misty figure says “It’s time to go”

But you say: “Slow down. I’m not ready yet. If light can take its time and cling to the horizon, so shall I until there are no more shadows. Let my body rest and my mind speak over the matter at hand.”

The figure nods “This I will allow.” And every door opens. Suddenly, you must choose.

Every door is different but familiar. Mahogany, marble, and massive piles of stone but all are doors. They are cracked opened, if only to tempt you with colorful light from an unknown source.
You lay a hand on every specimen and realize that none of them offer what you seek. The figure notices. “Are you not pleased?” a smile creeps across its features, “Shall we go then?”

“No,” you are firm, “I know that what I’m looking for exists. It is here somewhere.”

Desperately you search, opening and closing doors but never stepping inside. The figure chuckles at your desperation and everything turns cold. Except one door.

One door radiates with heat but escapes your eyes. You search and the laughter gets louder. “You will never have what it is you seek” said the figure. You do not listen. You feel warmth in your heart even as the cold bites at your ankles.

And then you find it. Not a door necessarily but an opportunity, warm and made of flesh. You smile and it smiles back. No; he smiles back. The cold figure has disappeared. In fact, you don’t remember what the figure looks like. Not anymore. Cold becomes a foreign sensation. The light leaves but so do the shadows. All the doors behind you shut. You have chosen.