Two Red Doors by Chipka
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Description
There is silence in the room, and the waver of lantern-light. The night is heavy. Something ponderous and sullen has made a nest in the hollow of her chest. It is soft around the edges: an animal of some sort. It makes her think of the shadows that blacken the feet of a vast, primeval forest. An animal lives there, the one at home—as well—within the cage of her ribs. It has gone there, she thinks, to die…
Horóz has always been good with animals; Horóz would know what to do about the ponderous and sullen thing in her chest.
Horóz is gone now. He does not know that she has stolen one of his notebooks so that she may remind herself of him. She does not love him, but his smell is intoxicating. He smells like ink and cheap paper. He smells like words. He is gone now…
…and now, she picks up the old and battered notebook, heavy with words, with maps, with the meticulous anatomies of insects, and the obscure viscera of fish: Horóz has drawn them and numbered each drawing with the obsessive care of an autistic savant. She flips pages at random, inhaling the heady, sweet redolence of ink and paper. She touches a single page and begins to read his compact, jagged handwriting.
There are doors in Magór’ö, through which no virgin may walk without the aid of a knife: they are the green doors, that open two ways, and once opened, never close. There are doors that open all the way into sunset on The Last Day: these doors—called asiin—so terrifying to the Sages, are torn from their hinges, when found, and buried in places that only the Sages know. Such doors, when torn from their thresholds and their hinges, forever block the way, but there will always remain one such door, unfound, undiscovered, and so the fear of the Sages is futile stupidity. There are doors with no thresholds embedded in the Great Wall of Edír: no one knows where they go. The Door of the Mouth is said to mark the place where the gorgon-muses live, and Théónús writes that only the blind ever use them. When a child is born in Magór’ö, a door is made, and painted black. There are three million people in Magór’ö, and so there are three million black doors. They never open. They never close And once—Théónús—writes, there were two red doors. The oldest doors in existence. It is said—Théónús writes—that the open into each other, and that they are Eternity. They are red doors. There are many red doors in Magór’ö.
She stops reading and closes the notebook. She closes her eyes, and wonders—for an instant—if Horóz will ever walk through the most familiar and intimate of doors again. She does not love him, nor does she want to, but she wants to smell him again, and hear the sonorous, glutinous weight of his Magór’ö accent.
*
I really have no idea where this came from or where it’s likely to go. There’s a door as yet to be discovered, and so for now, this snippet is all that I have.
As for the image: well, it’s a mood more than anything; something of a doodle, a gesture intended to blunt the edge of late-evening ennui. There may be more to this. At some point. Later. Much later. But for now, I hope you’ve enjoyed this brief little foray into whatever realm this image might happen to represent.
As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope to be viewing and commenting, and getting back into the swing of things soon.
Comments (17)
beachzz
Been forever since we've seen you, Chip and it's a wonderful image and your always great words you've given us. Love the colors and well, the words are way cool!!
Faemike55
Wonderful work - very thought provoking if one door opens, which door closed?
auntietk
Your first paragraph is perhaps the most visceral description of grief I've ever come across. There is such deep sorrow, unending sadness, such a sense of loss ... it reaches out and touches that same place in me. It's interesting to me that she sees her grief as something separate from herself, something that has taken up residence, something her friend would know how to fix. You have a way of putting so much emotion into so few words. I like the concept of the doors very much. It's fascinating to think of a society that creates a door for each person, thereby duplicating that person, as it were. Somehow the person herself is not enough? They need a door to represent them? I wonder if people go to visit their doors. When someone dies, does the door open? Does it get a new person? Can I go talk to your door if I can't find you? Would it do me any good? And the idea that there are doors that are so dangerous they must be taken off their hinges and buried. The psyche of the people of your world must be complex and twisty. I'm entranced! :)
giulband
Very very suggestive image !!!!
JuliSonne
For me has this picture somewhat confusing. The red is like a warning to for me. Think about just the next step. Like.... there must a decision to be made. Through which door do I must go?? A rebel's own soul. Emotions are born in your text. You are a very good observer and narrator.
helanker
Such a lovely "poem" Almost. To me it was kind og lyric :) And the image is very beautiful too. Both open and closed. :-) The Layers made it look so.
kgb224
Outstanding writing my friend. God bless.
jendellas
Excellent!!!
MrsRatbag
I have so missed your mysterious circling words, Chip. You have a way of using words like paint, or like cutout pieces of paper placed into a design, then dusted with colours that are ground up essences of emotion and meaning. This storylet doesn't seem like it needs to go anywhere at all, it is complete in its little bubble of concentrated feeling. You do that like no other!
durleybeachbum
Wonderful! The image is great on it's own. So are the words. Together is more than twice the pleasure.
treasureprints
Cool image and great narrative, Chip.:)
wysiwig
Tara beat me to it but I also felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and despair in your first paragraph. The door seems a perfect metaphor for life as it can signify both hello and goodbye. Though spare your words are very rich. You could say they are the cheesecake of prose.
flavia49
very beautiful
anahata.c
Yes to all the comments, and esp to Tara's, with which I agree. The thought of doors made when we're born, portals of our existence, is something fresh from the core of unexplained intuition. Doors we cannot go near or engage with too dearly---also from the core of intuition. And, like a number of your pieces throughout your gallery, you have this ability to tell a short encounter, or image (verbally), or meeting of phenomena, or just description of a place, event, whatever, that intimates a whole universe. These two characters come together for a few paragraphs almost for the purpose of exposing a whole universe which we only get a glimpse of. And your image is about doors, but also about layers of transparent worlds, one over the next. The metal braces on these doors float in air. And there's a lit center that feels mythic, and veiling some deep secret place inside. The image is surrounded by a big bathing black---top and sides---and it looks almost like a kaleidoscope, fanning out symmetrically. Dual worlds (maybe of your woman and man commingling for a moment). And it's doused in passionate reds, and menacing reds. Inward reds. And the beginning---I didn't get grief so much as resignation, unavoidable fate, and the idea that some presence has taken up residence in someone's chest is also straight from the center of intuition. Wholly surprising, but wholly right. Another portal. This is beautiful in image and words. And it's a delight to see you back again after a long absence.
Wolfenshire
Great work, gives you pause to think.
danapommet
The feeling of a glass wall holding me back and yet the red brick walls force my eyes inward to final red door which is mesmerizing for the moment!
KatesFriend
Your imagery is a wonderful complement and foreshadows the strange symmetries of this world you've described. This is more than just a normal physical object between two normal connected spaces. This door seems to be a division between two separate and inexplicably overlapping spaces. The deep red hues also play with the subconscious to suggest a place of power, secrets or danger. The brief section of Horóz's notes is very compelling. If we had not already slipped into this strange and exotic world through our lady's musing Horóz lays it bare to the reader a sudden and potent storm. Magór’ö is far more exotic than its name suggests. And as with dreams the reader very quickly accepts these irregularities in nature as perfectly normal. Indeed, this is nature within this world. As for the Sages, I have to admit I too would fear a door that opened to the last hours of the Last Day. Especially if there was no return through such doors. And then there is the paradox of the only two red doors - opening into each other. They are eternity. And that there are many red doors in Magór’ö. What could this mean of red doors? I'll be musing over this one for a while. Good writing does that to you.