What’s Behind Door Number One
something to not think about

[theme music made of pulsars]
[applause sign stuttering like a tired quasar]
-
Welcome back, contestants.
Tonight the cosmos is our sponsor
and the prize is rumor-shaped.
-
Pick a door.
-
Door One: a staircase that circles upward
until you become the railing.
A light saying yes to everything
and meaning almost.
-
Door Two: a handsome error in a lab coat.
The elevator button is jammed at Lobby.
The scientists ride forever,
knees trembling, calling it gravity,
mistaking the shiver for law.
-
Door Three: Probability in a prom dress,
swearing she’ll call tomorrow.
She does, wrong universe, right time.
-
What lie does the cosmos tell?
That there’s a backstage.
That the camera ever looks away.
That glitter underfoot isn’t the pulverized dead.
That every whisper of static is a message
and the reflections in the safety glass are gods,
ETs waving from a mezzanine of wish.
-
Commercial break.
Entropy in the makeup chair,
powdering her absence,
flirting with the boom mic,
selling Forever as a limited-time offer.
-
Back hot.
The Host tightens his crescent smile
with a wrench you can’t see.
Great Old Ones spin the Big Wheel.
It clacks through symbols no mouth can keep,
lands on a number shaped like never.
Confetti falls upward. Confetti falls downward.
Even air forgets its job.
-
Contestant, choose.
You want eternity, the deluxe package:
heated silence, zero endings,
a door that opens into yes.
-
You point at One.
The handle turns.
-
Inside: a smaller stage, brighter,
a smaller Host with three smaller doors,
cue cards blank as mercy.
“Welcome back,” says the echo.
“Tonight your sponsor is the rumor of escape.
Your prize is a key that fits every lock
by changing the shape of the lock.”
-
Somewhere above truth the elevator dings,
movement pretending to be meaning.
We step through, game-faced, brave,
still hoping the next door is the last.
-
[theme music returns, softer]
The cosmos leans in, no script,
and gives the only honest answer it has:
keep playing.
.
About the Creator
Iris Obscura
Do I come across as crass?
Do you find me base?
Am I an intellectual?
Or an effed-up idiot savant spewing nonsense, like... *beep*
Is this even funny?
I suppose not. But, then again, why not?
Read on...
Also:
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The story invoked strong personal emotions
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Comments (2)
I love the way you express things. It pulls the reader in without trying too hard.
this rocks you rule!