One Rule, One Way

There was only one rule: don’t open the door. Devina looked at her watch. It didn’t matter. The door would not open at exactly two o’clock like the brochure had announced. She sighed. The room had a chair and a table and a toilet and sink. A metal mirror allowed her to see her visage. She had strong cheekbones and icy green-gray eyes. All of her thirty years had led to this point. She had enough rations and care products to last her another thirty years. That didn’t prevent her from being lonely, forlorn, and dejected.

But that door was supposed to open. It had not opened for the past twenty years. In that time, she exercised and meditated. Ever since she was a child, she had thought the door would open. At first, fear occupied her mind. She was just a kid, then. Now, as an adult, she had been hardened by her conditions and respected the rule that had been decreed. She, however, felt slighted all these years as the door had not swung open, declaring her freedom and independence. She wasn’t a prisoner, but a living testament to strength and understanding. She smiled. Devina’s whole idea led to her thinking she would approach the door. Her steps were at once dainty and soldierly. She inched closer to the portal.

With intrepidity, she looked at her watch as it struck fifty-nine minutes after one. As she moved within proximity of the door, she felt her blood pound in her ears and sweat ran down her neck. The sound of the door opening permitted her the occasion to breathe. Devina was like a graceful swan venturing to a part of the pond never explored. Then, she heard the metallic thunder of the door’s mechanism. She saw her mother next.