The Corridor

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 23, 2016

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Submitted: August 23, 2016

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The Corridor.

 

You find yourself standing in a long corridor. You have no idea of where you are or of how you got here. There is no visible way for you to be where you are. Behind you is a wall; to your left and to your right just more....wall. You look up but there is no hatch above you and the floor you are standing on is solid concrete.

 

It is dim. There is only one bare light bulb dangling way in front of you. The bulb is weak, low-powered. It gives off very little light. The walls are plain but you cannot really make out the colour – could be white, pale grey or cream. The ceiling and the floor are both the same uniform colour.

 

At the far end of the corridor you can see two doors. There are no twists, no turns. No corners where other doors may be hidden are discernible. There is nothing to do but walk forward.

 

Slowly you start to walk, putting one foot gingerly in front of the other. There is something pressing against your back, urging you to move forward. The wall behind you has followed your progress. The corridor is getting shorter.

 

Faster now, you press on. The doors are much nearer now, details are beginning to stand out. They are plain white, no windows, no grilles. There is an identical handle on each one. There are no door frames; the doors are fitted directly on to the walls.

 

Still you are being urged onward, pushed from behind. The doors are now almost within arm’s reach. You stop walking to take a closer look. There is not one difference between them even up close. There are no cracks or gaps around either, no light visible in any chinks or chips.

 

Again you are pressed forward. You are going to have to pick between them but how can you know which to chose? You have no idea where they lead to. One is to your left. One is to your right. You are going to have to decide.

 

You press the palms of your hands against each doors surface. This gives you no clue. They are both neither hot nor cold, warm nor cool. They both feel as solid as each other.

 

The wall is right behind you now. You are going to have to make a choice. But still you hesitate. Is there a right door and a wrong door or do they both lead to the same place? Your hands are reaching for a handle, alternating between each side.

 

Time is up. You need to open one of those doors. You cannot decide but at the last second your hand lands on the left handle. You turn it, hoping that you have not just made one massively big mistake.


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