Red Door (Seasame Sleep)

It was something my therapist said to me once:

Go to your Happy Place.

“Close your eyes, Camilla. Imagine a sea, mountains, fields, whatever your heart desires. Sit there for a little while.”

I had just opened my mouth to tell her exactly what my happy place entailed (no, really, no rude innuendos involved) when her voice bumped against my subconscious softly.

“Don’t tell me. Just feel. This place belongs to no one but you. All yours.”

Mine.

I lean against the hum of my Honda’s pleather seats. The radio is screeching wildly, spitting out bits of static like a boxer snorting blood and broken teeth onto the arena floor.

My Happy Place did not involve late night T.V.

I thump my head against the steering wheel. Imagine the red door, Camilla. Imagine the Plexiglas handle, the crown molding frame flaking-

“What happens next?” Your eyes laugh at me, “flowers? Rainbows? A prancing unicorn or two?”

I try to look annoyed. I’m not very good at it. “No. Just wait.”

I didn’t even think of stopping. If I were being honest, I think I more vomited the words at your feet then let you into my head. At the time it felt so good to just be rid of it.

For a second, now, it does feel like it was good idea. But only the vomiting on your shoes part.

I dig my nails a bit harder into the horn. I think about pushing just a little bit more, just enough for a one quick blare. Enough to wake Mom. Enough to keep me in the driveway.

I will, I decide. If I can get to my Happy Place I’ll blow the horn. I’ll call you. I’ll apologize.

So. There’s a red door. A handle-

“You open the door.” I say, leaning into your side just a bit. “At first you can’t see anything. Not even black-

“Not black? How is that even possible-“

I knee you in the gut, but mostly so that my legs are closer to yours, “Shut it. Do you want to hear or not?”

Your chest heaves a bit. I mistake it for a laugh.

“Slowly your eyes adjust. First is blue. A soft kind of turquoise that sets the sky on fire. It drips down, bruising to a delicate purple, a teal, and at last yellow. Like feathers.

There are no stars yet. A moon, maybe. One that hangs crookedly on its side, cracked like a bit of wedding china. A cutout of a tree scratches its belly, falling into threaded roots along a shallow bank-

“A bank?” you say, your voice perking up a bit.

“Yes.” I smile. I smile because only I know what comes next, “to a river. It reflects the sky so that you’re not sure which is water and which is air. You want to touch it, but…you can’t. It’s too fragile. Like, maybe, if you did the entire sky would cave in. It’s reflection gone. It’s sister.”

You’re silent. I almost start humming. It had always been such a lonely river, but now-

You laugh.

“A river? Seriously, Cam? Anywhere in the world- hell, not even in the world, and you pick something you can see out of your own window? That’s priceless.”

I can’t feel my fingers. I think I may throw up. “It’s beautiful.”

I don’t think you hear me. “Priceless. God bless your shrink is what I say. And the power of a small town.” You pat my head like a kicked puppy. “Aw, Cam, don’t look at me that way, I’m just teasing.”

I have no idea how I’m looking at you. I can’t see you.

But I don’t say that.

You jump to fill the silence, “I mean, have you ever seen the ocean? It’s sick. Absolutely, frickin’ sick. Tides and everything. You’d love it.” Then quietly, you chuckle, “River. A frickin’ river. Priceless.”

Yes. A river. Just behind the door. The red door with the Plexiglas handle and the crown-

I can’t find the door.

I can’t find the freaking door.

My nails dig into the steering wheel, leaving little half moon cuts. But not into the horn. Into the road, into the gravel and dirt and bloody small town disease.

I’m going to find a new Happy Place.

Spoiler

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Red Door, but don't be shy, let me know what you actually think
Have a wonderful day,
Gwenavera

I really really liked this.

The opening was great and it threw us into a great scene wherein the main character remembers a therapy session. I think it's a wonderful setting, and the main character was likeable and I loved her voice as I continued to read through. You have a lovely way with words that left me in awe...it was so beautiful especially when you described the lake.

Although I loved all these things there were times when the story got a bit haphazard and I didn't know if the main character (MC) was talking to the therapist or the invisible character that seems to taunt her all through the story.

I think I more vomited the words at your feet then let you into my head. At the time it felt so good to just be rid of it.

I don't think this sentence makes sense at all and although I sort of got what you meant, I was taken aback by it.

I loved the ending. The last line seems lovely and just about perfect but I'm wondering if it lessens the effect of this---)

My nails dig into the steering wheel, leaving little half moon cuts. But not into the horn. Into the road, into the gravel and dirt and bloody small town disease.

Hope this helped,

Anger

Hey there!

I agree with anger. It was a great story, but at times I found myself wondering what was going on. That may have been your intention, but I still couldn't help feeling a little lost in places. Like the whole thing about vomiting on shoes - did that actually happen or is a figure of speech? - like she's just mumbling at the ground?

pleather seats.

I think this is supposed to read as 'leather'

Your eyes laugh at me, “flowers?

The comma should be a full stop.

That's it for nit-piks though, so well done you

You have a lovely writing style and I loved the dialogue. I really got the connection between the two characters, even if I am left feeling a little confused as to who they are exactly. I want to know who the 'you' is and why the MC feels like they have to apologise to them. It's as if there's missing pieces in this and I'm desperate to know the answers. I want to know why she had therapy and why she has to visit her happy place. I need to know

Good job on writing a good little story and capturing my interest

I hope this helps a little!

xDudettex

Comments will be in red. ^^

It was something my therapist said to me once:

Go to your Happy Place. #FF0000 ">I'm not sure about the way this is punctuated, but I'm not the best with punctuations so...>>" Also, this is a decent start, I guess.

“Close your eyes, Camilla. Imagine a sea, mountains, fields, whatever your heart desires. Sit there for a little while.”

I had just opened my mouth to tell her exactly what my happy place entailed (no, really, no rude innuendos involved) when her voice bumped against my subconscious softly. #FF0000 ">This just sounds as if you're trying too hard to make your prose sound different. The last part especially sticks out to me. It doesn't sound natural at all.

“Don’t tell me. Just feel. This place belongs to no one but you. All yours.” #FF0000 ">I think "this" isn't the right word to use. Maybe "that", because the therapist isn't there with her.

Mine.

I lean against the hum of my Honda’s pleather seats. The radio is screeching wildly, spitting out bits of static like a boxer snorting blood and broken teeth onto the arena floor. #FF0000 ">Tense change. You went from past tense to present tense. Pick a tense and stick with it. Also, this last simile is wildly jarring. It's a happy place. Why are you comparing it to something so violent? oo"

My Happy Place did not involve late night T.V.

I thump my head against the steering wheel. Imagine the red door, Camilla. Imagine the Plexiglas handle, the crown molding frame flaking-

“What happens next?” Your eyes laugh at me #FF0000 ">..Now the audience is part of the story? Pick one point of view and stick with it. A while ago it was first person, now it's first mixed with second. If you're going to have teh audience in the story, be consistent. Also, I'll tackle breaking the fourth wall more later., “flowers? Rainbows? A prancing unicorn or two?”

I try to look annoyed. I’m not very good at it. #FF0000 ">Tell me, how does she know she's not very good at it? Does she look in the mirror trying to look annoyed and realize she's no good? She won't know unless there's some otheri indicator (she accidentally smiles, etc.). “No. Just wait.”

I didn’t even think of stopping. #FF0000 ">Tense shift again. If I were being honest, I think I more vomited the words at your feet then let you into my head. #FF0000 ">Again with the gruesome comparisons. I thought you were writing about a happy place. >.O" At the time it felt so good to just be rid of it.

For a second, now, it does feel like it was good idea. But only the vomiting on your shoes part. #FF0000 ">I'm a little confused. She literally vomited on his shoes? Otherwise, it was only a metaphor, right? oo" So why would she feel good about vomiting on his shoes if it never happened? >>" Straighten this out by saying /vomiting the words/ was a good idea.

I dig my nails a bit harder into the horn. I think about pushing just a little bit more, just enough for #FF0000 ">a one quick blare. Enough to wake Mom. Enough to keep me in the driveway.

I will, I decide. If I can get to my Happy Place I’ll blow the horn. I’ll call you. I’ll apologize.

So. There’s a red door. A handle-

“You open the door.” I say, leaning into your side just a bit. “At first you can’t see anything. Not even black-

“Not black? How is that even possible-“

I knee you in the gut, but mostly so that my legs are closer to yours, “Shut it. Do you want to hear or not?”

Your chest heaves a bit. I mistake it for a laugh. #FF0000 ">...I think I finally know what's going on. I'll tackle this later.

“Slowly your eyes adjust. First is blue. A soft kind of turquoise that sets the sky on fire. It drips down, bruising to a delicate purple, a teal, and at last yellow. Like feathers.

There are no stars yet. A moon, maybe. One that hangs crookedly on its side, cracked like a bit of wedding china. A cutout of a tree scratches its belly, falling into threaded roots along a shallow bank-

“A bank?” you say, your voice perking up a bit.

“Yes.” I smile. I smile because only I know what comes next, “to a river. It reflects the sky so that you’re not sure which is water and which is air. You want to touch it, but…you can’t. It’s too fragile. Like, maybe, if you did the entire sky would cave in. It’s reflection gone. It’s sister.”

You’re silent. I almost start humming. It had always been such a lonely river, but now- #FF0000 ">To be honest, I'm only skimming your work at this point. You've totally lost my interest. >.O"

You laugh.

“A river? Seriously, Cam? Anywhere in the world- hell, not even in the world, and you pick something you can see out of your own window? That’s priceless.”

I can’t feel my fingers. I think I may throw up. “It’s beautiful.”

I don’t think you hear me. “Priceless. God bless your shrink is what I say. And the power of a small town.” You pat my head like a kicked puppy. #FF0000 ">...Kick puppies don't pat other people's heads. ._."“Aw, Cam, don’t look at me that way#FF0000 ">; I’m just teasing.”

I have no idea how I’m looking at you. I can’t see you.

But I don’t say that.

You jump to fill the silence, “I mean, have you ever seen the ocean? It’s sick. Absolutely, frickin’ sick. Tides and everything. You’d love it.” Then quietly, you chuckle, “River. A frickin’ #FF0000 ">Word repetition. Doesn't work. river. Priceless.”

Yes. A river. Just behind the door. The red door with the Plexiglas handle and the crown-

I can’t find the door.

I can’t find the freaking #FF0000 ">Word repetition again. door.

My nails dig into the steering wheel, leaving little half moon cuts. But not into the horn. Into the road, into the gravel and dirt and bloody small town disease. #FF0000 ">I think you're trying to be deep, but I really don't get it. ._.

I’m going to find a new Happy Place.

I'm going to be blunt and say I didn't get it, and I'm not all that impressed. >.O" This piece is all over the place. I don't really see any consistent characterization, any plot, or tension. Not until the end, anyway, but by then it was too late.

Most of the time, I treat books to a toothpick test. I open the book to a random page and see if there's tension there. A book worth reading usually has tension in most of its pages. Tension is what keeps the reader reading. There has to be conflict, and your main character has to have difficulty achieving what he or she wants. In this piece, I don't even know what your character wants, and what's keeping her from it. The only thing that seem to tie the various paragraphs together is the common theme of a happy place.

I think I get what you're trying to accomplish, though. However, the only works I've read in this type of fiction is Richard Siken's work, and I suggest maybe you read his work. In particular, I suggest You Are Jeff. You Are Jeff makes no sense sometimes, but if you read it consistently, you'll see there's a logical progression to things, and that it does make sense if you read enough times. This one is just all over the place. First there's a therapist, but you never mention anything about me and - >.O"

On another note, second person is very hard to pull off without the reader snorting and thinking she wouldn't do what you just said he/she did. You're going to have to make up for it by distracting the reader with your best prose and conflict, so the reader keeps reading anyway and doesn't notice (too much) that it's second person.

I'll give you credit for voice, but this is so confusing voice doesn't save it like it usually does a normal piece. Try to put some sense into this, and maybe it'll work. As it stands, I can't critique much because it really is all over the place. >>"

I hope this helped! PM me if you have any questions~

Sincerely,

Octave