Rule Bound

There was one rule: don’t open the door. It was always a simple rule, but one that racked my brain for countless hours, days… even years. Every visit I saw the wooden door slowly rotting away at the edges. The rot growing larger and more devastating with each passing glance like a single horrible thought spiraling out of control going further and further into turmoil. The thought irked me and eventually consumed me. People always told me that it’s far scarier on the other side, but what is it I should fear?

To be honest, I don’t remember who even told me about the rule. From the moment I could remember, it was established. No one dared to open the door. Even the mice crawling across the floor never even glanced underneath in fear of what could be beyond.

Xenophobia is what it’s called. Not the kind you hear every day in the streets, but the true sense of fearing the unfamiliar, the unknown. Not knowing if that one decision you made ruined or saved your life.

An energy vibrates from behind the door, drawing me in. The low vibration is something so familiar from the depths of my memory I can still remember it’s call countless nights.

All I’ve ever known is to follow the rules. Never stray from the path. What if the path unknown, the path everyone fears is the path that sets you free? My heart sinks and my fingers grow cold as I touch the golden knob. It takes one turn to fall into the depths of the unknown. Into depths where I’ll find the darkest parts of myself and the world. But what if it's my worst mistake?