The Door

Do not open the door.
Merely contemplate opening the door.
Wonder why the door is there in the first place.
Look around. Notice the surrounding area. Notice the lack of trees. Notice the air.
Breathe in the air. Breathe out the air. Smell the stench that is not common in the air. Think about trees. Think about how nature is faltering, how the world is burning, how maybe this strange place of nothingness is somehow safer.
Return your focus to the door. Run your fingers along the red wood. Ask if this was of a tree with red wood, or a normal tree dyed red. No, not aloud. Do not ask yourself the question aloud.
Fold your arms across your chest. Tap against your elbow aimlessly. Note the passing of time. Note the passing of time as you stand in front of a door, instructed not to open it.
Question the door. Interrogate the door. Scream at it for invading your life, for being a part of whatever hellscape you are trapped in. Wonder if self narration would help. Realize that self narration will never help. Understand that there is no one for you to talk to, and you should not open that door.
Do not open the door.
Contemplate existence. Ask yourself if the door really exists, or if you are just imagining it. Take comfort in the idea that this voice above you is merely helping you maintain sanity. Look around. Realize that you are alone. Realize the likelihood of never being with another person but the voice again.
Remember the door, but do not open the door. Think about food. Think about steak sandwiches, McDonald’s Quarter Pounders, cheesecake, barbecue chips, macaroni salad, fresh strawberries, raspberry jam and turkey between two slices of rye bread. Hear your stomach growl at you for not feeding it. Look for food. Remember that you are in a place with no people, no nature, no existence. Become content with dying of starvation.
Touch the hinge of the door. Hope there is something to eat beyond the door. Touch the knob. Burn your hand on the doorknob.
Jump back. Watch your skin blister. Accost yourself for not trusting the voice. The voice told you not to open the door.
Listen to the voice. Understand that this is how you will die. Comprehend the nearness of nothing. Comprehend the lack of life, the lack of walls or floors, the utter and complete lack.
Hear your stomach rumble.
Do not open the door.
Look at your hand, your hand is burning.
Do not open the door.
Remember that there is nothing behind that door. Ignore the light of day, ignore the smell of banquets and feasts. It is a trick. Remember that there is nothing. Remember that you are to die.
Do not go through the door.
Come back.
Please, come back.
Join me, for I was once like you, and I have grown lonesome.
Come back.