I wrote this for a contest, to write about an emotion- I chose excitement. I really don't think it fits in General Fiction Short Stories, but I'll give it a go.
I sit alone in an empty room. The walls are flat, plain, and gray.
There is a door in front of me. It is white and surprisingly regular. The frame has thirty-seven nail holes. The handle is turning. I have been fixing my gaze on it for as long as I can remember, but I swear on all that I am, the handle is turning.
It will open. And something wonderful or terrible will be behind it, but not yet.
I must wait first.
It kills me. Every fiber of my being, the flakes of my skin, the roots of my hair, the raw pieces of my palms that I’ve dug my nails into- all scream at me, pulling me towards the door. I’ve envisioned in my mind a thousand times what I will find. But it would not work. I know that much.
I must still wait. My eyes flicker to the corners of the bare room, wishing for something, anything that will distract me from the door. Sweat drips down my face and I lick my lips. Soon it will open. It must. But I have been telling myself that for hours.
I am chained in the past, while all I can think of is the future. The excitement is destroying me.
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