The peeling paint evokes a prickling sensation, the buzzing hum of television static raising every hair along her arms. Memories splash up her throat, acidic pantomimes of words left unspoken.
She sucks in a breath, choking down the bilious resentment. They’re dead now. Grief is absent, yet she fears it may come calling unwelcome. She’s already mourned enough for them, for who they never were. An entire graveyard of what ifs and could have beens.
This was supposed to be a relief— closure, moving forward, burying the damned past. Behind the door lay discontent history, truths dusted over by time and tainted retelling. And no one left to lie except her to herself. She didn’t want to cry for them, not anymore. They didn’t deserve it. Did that make her a monster too? The door swung open and stirred the stale, ash coated air. Her tongue stained nicotine yellow as she tasted the childhood atmosphere. There was no heart stirring emotion as her old home clawed at her senses. She smiled, glad they were dead.
He never returned her smiles, despite seeing her every day across the fence. She offered him a cookie, once. He looked at it, and smiled. [25 words]
That night, there was a pastry box on Kayla’s doorstep. She opened it, her heart beating faster with hope. Inside, there was a single key with a note. “The blue door at the back,” it said. “Tomorrow night, 7 pm.” She went to bed clutching it tightly in her hand. [50 words]
The sun sank messily into the horizon the next night, orange and red light fluttering across the sky. Kayla fussed with her hair, redoing it until the soft braids fell just right. She adjusted her skirt, brushed the lint off her blouse. Walked over to the house next door, unsteady on her feet. Did he really like her? Was he just shy?
Hope was a heady thing. The blue door swung open, quietly, creakily. The clock chimed seven. “Hello, Kayla,” said her neighbor quietly. “I’m so glad you came.”
She realized her mistake just as she saw the knife gleam. [100 words]
“It’s blessed,” said Erich. “Now that the last stone has been placed let this home provide solace to all who are in need of shelter.
50 words
The dragon’s head mast approached when eleven children burst through the door racing down to the shoreline.
Three months at sea had been an eternity.
Rough winds and poor pillaging skills had hampered their journey.
Sigrudur held her youngest as she greeted her husband. “Did you bring home the meat?”
100 words
The very old style stone house with a faded blue door was surrounded by skyscrapers in downtown London.
Each month realtors inquired if the property was for sale.
Anderson politely rejected all inquiries. It didn't look like much but the house had sustained his family for centuries.
“Morning Ovi and Ehthreal” he called as he descended the stairs to the first basement where his great great great great great grandparents lived.
He descended another 20 levels making inquiries of relatives along the way.
Anderson picked up the shovel and resumed digging. Soon he would need room for his growing family.
150 words
The Blue Door
By Marcus Mathieu
Times Special Reporter
We met with 100 year old Martha Jefferson as she swept her front walk. She still lives by herself in her family home. She continues to chop firewood to heat it.
What are your secrets to living as long as you have?
Martha got a twinkle in her eye as she deadpanned, “Good sex is my secret although it is difficult to find someone strong enough to enjoy it at my age.”
When asked what was her greatest wish for her birthday she replied, “I wish my parents were here to see it. They gave me good genes and a way of looking at life that only made me stronger as I aged.”
“Any advice for those who follow in your footsteps?”
“Paint your door blue. It is something nice to look at when you come home after a long day.”
Ninety-five years ago, a young mother entered and was locked in, never to be free again, forever separated from her children. She died alone. [25 words]
It was a strange door, designed for a prison, not a home, with a lock, but no doorknob. I used my borrowed key to open the door and peered into the dusty darkness. The room was filled with ghosts. One of them was Grandma. She begged me not to enter. [50 words]
Grandma died fifty-five years ago, but her ghost looked young, like in the one photograph I have of her. Granddad was in the picture, proud and happy, his arm around her waist. Dad was there, too, hiding inside her belly. She and Granddad looked ready to conquer the whole wide world. Great Grandma had taken the picture a few months before Dad was born, before Grandma lost her mind... before they locked her up forever. I started to cry, and she glided up to me. “It’s okay little one,” she murmured. “Go and live, live for both of us.” [100 words]
Cold Hearted
[StoryStack] - Continuation method
She hesitates— that door leads home.
The peeling paint evokes a prickling sensation, the buzzing hum of television static raising every hair along her arms. Memories splash up her throat, acidic pantomimes of words left unspoken.
She sucks in a breath, choking down the bilious resentment. They’re dead now. Grief is absent, yet she fears it may come calling unwelcome. She’s already mourned enough for them, for who they never were. An entire graveyard of what ifs and could have beens.
This was supposed to be a relief— closure, moving forward, burying the damned past. Behind the door lay discontent history, truths dusted over by time and tainted retelling. And no one left to lie except her to herself. She didn’t want to cry for them, not anymore. They didn’t deserve it. Did that make her a monster too? The door swung open and stirred the stale, ash coated air. Her tongue stained nicotine yellow as she tasted the childhood atmosphere. There was no heart stirring emotion as her old home clawed at her senses. She smiled, glad they were dead.
The Boy Next Door
[StoryStack] - Continuation Method
Kayla loved her neighbor with passion. [6 words]
He never returned her smiles, despite seeing her every day across the fence. She offered him a cookie, once. He looked at it, and smiled. [25 words]
That night, there was a pastry box on Kayla’s doorstep. She opened it, her heart beating faster with hope. Inside, there was a single key with a note. “The blue door at the back,” it said. “Tomorrow night, 7 pm.” She went to bed clutching it tightly in her hand. [50 words]
The sun sank messily into the horizon the next night, orange and red light fluttering across the sky. Kayla fussed with her hair, redoing it until the soft braids fell just right. She adjusted her skirt, brushed the lint off her blouse. Walked over to the house next door, unsteady on her feet. Did he really like her? Was he just shy?
Hope was a heady thing. The blue door swung open, quietly, creakily. The clock chimed seven. “Hello, Kayla,” said her neighbor quietly. “I’m so glad you came.”
She realized her mistake just as she saw the knife gleam. [100 words]
Built To Last
A Story Stack: The Separation Method
6 words
Five hundred years of failed winds.
25 words
“It’s blessed,” said Erich. “Now that the last stone has been placed let this home provide solace to all who are in need of shelter.
50 words
The dragon’s head mast approached when eleven children burst through the door racing down to the shoreline.
Three months at sea had been an eternity.
Rough winds and poor pillaging skills had hampered their journey.
Sigrudur held her youngest as she greeted her husband. “Did you bring home the meat?”
100 words
The very old style stone house with a faded blue door was surrounded by skyscrapers in downtown London.
Each month realtors inquired if the property was for sale.
Anderson politely rejected all inquiries. It didn't look like much but the house had sustained his family for centuries.
“Morning Ovi and Ehthreal” he called as he descended the stairs to the first basement where his great great great great great grandparents lived.
He descended another 20 levels making inquiries of relatives along the way.
Anderson picked up the shovel and resumed digging. Soon he would need room for his growing family.
150 words
The Blue Door
By Marcus Mathieu
Times Special Reporter
We met with 100 year old Martha Jefferson as she swept her front walk. She still lives by herself in her family home. She continues to chop firewood to heat it.
What are your secrets to living as long as you have?
Martha got a twinkle in her eye as she deadpanned, “Good sex is my secret although it is difficult to find someone strong enough to enjoy it at my age.”
When asked what was her greatest wish for her birthday she replied, “I wish my parents were here to see it. They gave me good genes and a way of looking at life that only made me stronger as I aged.”
“Any advice for those who follow in your footsteps?”
“Paint your door blue. It is something nice to look at when you come home after a long day.”
I love how you created five beautiful stories of hope out of one blue door.
The Old Asylum
[StoryStack] - Continuation Method
Grandma lived and died in there. [6 words]
Ninety-five years ago, a young mother entered and was locked in, never to be free again, forever separated from her children. She died alone. [25 words]
It was a strange door, designed for a prison, not a home, with a lock, but no doorknob. I used my borrowed key to open the door and peered into the dusty darkness. The room was filled with ghosts. One of them was Grandma. She begged me not to enter. [50 words]
Grandma died fifty-five years ago, but her ghost looked young, like in the one photograph I have of her. Granddad was in the picture, proud and happy, his arm around her waist. Dad was there, too, hiding inside her belly. She and Granddad looked ready to conquer the whole wide world. Great Grandma had taken the picture a few months before Dad was born, before Grandma lost her mind... before they locked her up forever. I started to cry, and she glided up to me. “It’s okay little one,” she murmured. “Go and live, live for both of us.” [100 words]