The Package
:-)
It wasn't a gate.
Those were the bars of a cage - that house, my prison.
Could I not open it? Of course I could.
Could I just leave? Any time.
Could I break free?
Could I break free?
What is freedom? Nothing but a pair of wornout boots.
There I stood, looking through those bars.
The soft morning rain did not bother me.
Neither did her spying me from the third floor window. She knew.
I looked at my watch: quarter to seven.
I was used to waiting. In a sense, I had been waiting for my entire life. At least now...
A car finally arrived.
One step closer to the gate, I stuck my hand out. I received the little package. The car drove off.
I looked up at the window, but she was gone.
The rain had stopped.
Beyond the gate, the rising city.
Can I leave now?
Can I be somewhere else?
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Comments (2 so far!)
Lampyris Noctiluca
Hi Robert! thank you very much for your comment and for allowing me to find this place (I read your reply on the fb page where the prompt text was being discussed!).
The pair of boots were meant to suggest something that can take you very far if you decide to walk, but at the same time carries all the dirt of the journey. Freedom is valuable but it means taking full responsibility for your choices, and responsibility can worn you out.
- #3811 Posted 6 years ago
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Story prompt:
A commenter on a writing blog woke up in the middle of the night and opened a doc to record their thoughts. In the morning they looked back at their remembered genius. It contained four words: It wasn't a gate. They can't remember what it means.
Tell us.
- Published 6 years ago.
- Story viewed 8 times and rated 0 times.
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Robert Quick
Very interesting. Welcome! For being a new member, you've certainly got the idea of what a story here does/is/is supposed to do. There's a mystery, people (that have dimensions), and a world larger than the 1024 allotment of characters. My favorite line is the first italicized line. Sometimes freedom is that simple.