by R.T. Allenson

The windowless room is my world and a silence fills my senses.

In my world, there is a door. Where it leads, I know not. These are but two of the three truths I know.

One. That the room is windowless.

Two. That there is a door.

And three. That there is another.

The first time was an accident. I was tired and had nothing else to lean on but the door and I heard something from the other side of the room. I pressed my ear to the door, feeling the wooden surface and softly gave it a knock.

“I know who you are.” it whispered from behind the door.

I felt each word pass me by like a cold wind. My hands twitched, moving away from the golden-polished handle and felt my legs numb as I pulled back from the door. There was a sense of knowing, understanding when I heard it repeat those words over and over again. The silence, it seemed, had almost faded into nothingness as the words resonated into the room. And somewhere in the back of my mind, as I felt my eyes close on me with the veil of the dark, I felt that in some way – I also knew who was behind the door.

The memory of it is ripe in my mind and I still hear it conversing with itself sometimes, or does it try and converse with me? I wonder what it thinks of its own world, a windowless room with nothing else but a door and a stranger on the other side. In my contentment I cannot help but wonder if it longs for a semblance of being, apart from itself…as I do clandestinely.

The windowless room is my world and a silence fills my senses. The dream is about to end and I do not know if I want to wake up. Somewhere behind the door is another who knows my name, and I know that if I would open the door…then I will wake up.

My sleep has gone on for months..perhaps years. Time, wasted into a falseness that is nothingness that is dreaming. Sometimes I feel what is real and how far from my own personal glory and splendor I am now. How unbecoming.

I take  a step forward towards the door, pressing my ear close to its wooden frame. The whispering voice beckons me and calls me by my name, my real name. My hand finds the golden handle and ever so slightly, press downwards.

I push and I hear. My vision fails as the room vanishes from my sight. The door creaks open as I feel the words of the whisperer pass me by like a cold wind…

and then…