This is a short story written for Absolute Write’s blog chain. The prompt was “second chances”.
I have never been lucky enough to be granted a second chance. Every few months it seems as if I am getting steps closer to the opened door that is my chance. And then, that door is rudely slammed closed when I am only mere inches away. I always just sigh and sulk back down the hallway, away from the door of would be chance.
This imaginary hallway of mine came about many years ago. This imaginary hallway has turned my life to shit. The door at the end of it sits there and mocks me of my screw-ups and failed motivations. It reminds me of how little I have changed over the years. I’m still just as unmotivated and I still fail to think before I act.
When I exit the hallway, with my head hung low, I am always greeted with a floating plate of fried chips. I stop and greedily shove the chips into my mouth. I follow the floating plate into a smoking room and sit at a dimly lit bar. When I finish inhaling the chips, a glass of ice slides up the counter to me and is filled by an invisible bartender with bottom shelf whiskey.
I moan and groan to the bartender about my current problems. He nods along as I speak and then asks if the door closed on me again. I nod my head in response and ask him how he knew what happened. He tells me that the floating plate told him.
“Ah, yes.” I say, of course the plate told him! How could I be so stupid? I chuckle to myself and the glass is refilled with the soft amber liquid that sooths my sadness. It’s a sad day when your own imagination knows what is going on before you do. I empty the glass in a single gulp and clang it against the bar singling that I wanted a refill.
The barkeep shakes his head no, explaining that it is due time to cut me off. I argue with him, “I’ve only had two drinks” I exclaim “I have money, I can pay for more!” I am now wildly flapping my arms around. The bartender keeps firm. He tells me that sitting in a bar and drinking will not make the door open up again.
I sigh, he is right. Drinking and sitting on a barstool so long that my ass becomes so numb that I can’t tell my ass from the floor isn’t going to make the damn door magically open. Thinking of the door opening brings back wild and vivid memories of the time that I was the closest. I remember when I was standing there in front of the door, too afraid to take another step forward.
The door was open wider this time. Normally it was only ajar but this time it was wide open and I could see inside. Just on the other side, golden light filtered out and warmed my face. I could see the outline of a masculine body and my heart fluttered. Short stature, muscular arms and legs with alfalfa like hair. It had to be him.
I battled my anxiety and took one step forward. My eyelids started to felt heavy and I closed them. I felt lips softly touch mine and I was sure that my heart was about to explode in my chest. Suddenly, a poof of air rushed my face and blows my hair back. I opened my eyes and saw that the door had once again been slammed in my face. Tears started to form in my eyes and I shook my head to fight them off. I had been so very close to having a second chance.
I turned away, shifting my feet as if they were made of solid stone. With a deep sigh, I muster up what little strength that I have left and shuffled down the hallway. My mind was void of all thoughts until a craving for comfort food hit me and I smiled, looking forward to the plate of chips that I knew would be at the end of the hallway.
Check out more posts from the blog chain;
Turndog-Millionaire – orion_mk3 — Ralph Pines — magicmint — Tomspy77 — LilGreenBookworm — LiterateParakeet — AFord — writingismypassion — SuzanneSeese — kiwiviktor81 — randi.lee — These Mean Streets — areteus — Domoviye — pyrosama — julzperri – Nissie — in_one — sambgood
