GO ALL OUT
I NEED THE FEEDBACK
The young fragile boy woke up in a rather small, dark, musty room. As his eyes adjusted to the light coming from a crepuscular lamp on ground, the boy noticed that the floor was broken rubble and dirt. A strange smell lingered around, consisting of wildflowers and death. The smell confused the boy, seeing as it greatly reminded him of his aunts heavy perfume that she always sprayed around her house. Normally, the smell annoyed him greatly, but it held nothing but comfort during this moment.
Brushing his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes, the boy attempted to get up, but to his dismay, a pounding migraine rang through his mind and his wobbly legs gave out. His misty green eyes scanned the room that surrounded him. The cement walls were crumbling and a blanket of moss lay over them. It was as if the room hasn't tasted a touch of humanity in centuries. The boy then noticed two doors, one on his left, one on his right.
The left door was coloured a bright crimson red, the boy's favourite colour. Looking at the door gave the boy a strange warm feeling, one he hadn't felt before. He couldn't quite describe it but it made him feel happy and safe inside.
The right door was coloured a pristine blue and held a crisp cold air to it that seemed to clear the boy's migraine. It seemed to soothe the boy's trembling hands, as if it were his mother cooing him to sleep.
The boy looked anxiously between both doors and wondered which one would be the safest.
Suddenly a booming voice came from behind him.
"Choose a door." The voice startled the boy and made him jump. Where was he? The boy looked down at himself and saw that his hands were caked with blood. In his stomach was a bullet wound.
Suddenly the boy remembered. He had been in class, working on his math when a man dressed in all black had burst into the classroom holding a gun. Behind him followed five other men who also had guns. Without hesitation, the group of men open fired. The boy was one of the first to be shot. Tears sprang into his eyes as memories of the pain the bullet brought ran through him. He remembered thinking his mom was there telling him it was going to be alright, but she had died two years ago from cancer.
The boy turned around to see a man in a neat black suit standing behind him. He had dark hair and his eyes were a dark brown. His skin was pale yet flawless. The boy thought maybe he was angel of some sort. In his left hand, he held a weapon that was made of a long thin pole with a hooked blade at the end of it.
"A-Am I dead?" The boy's voice whimpered. The man before him chuckled.
"That's what it looks like buddy. Now you've gotta pick a door. Whichever one seems most comfortable." His tone was soft and gentle, as if he pitied the poor boy.
The boy looked again at the doors. The red one reminded him of home and grandma. It gave a comfortable feeling. But the blue one reminded him of his mom. Oh how he missed his mom. Without realizing it, the boy began to crawl towards the blue door.
It opened before him and the boy soon found himself leaving the crumbled cement room and into a room full of cold light.
Death watched as the door closed behind the boy and sighed as he ran his hand through his hair.
"He chose the wrong door." |