(these portals for mortals may look like endless possibilities for those who read…BUT!!! For those who write? Endless knock-knock jokes)
We have a few more entries remaining in our contest in which each contestant has been required to submit the prologue to the novel they are telling everyone that they are writing. Semi-finalists, to be announced this coming week, will then submit chapter one, and finalists will then submit chapter two.
Stefanie Allison, our favorite barrista and developing authoress, has another entry in our contest.
I still have entries to post for Parisianne Modert, Tiffany Monique, Barbara Keeling, Kristina Tstsakos, and Laura Girardeau. If your name is not on this list, please let me know and I will look under all the papers the SatiKushes are sleeping upon (yes, the Satikushes have been returned to their master.)
In the meantime, here is the prologue to
by Stefanie Allison
I didn’t realize when I died that I’d be surrounded by more doors than the home improvement section of Lowes. But the second I passed from my body, I found doors in places Salvador Dali wouldn’t have thought to put them.
When I got over the shock of my feet no longer touching the ground, the next thing I had to contend with was the fact that there were doors everywhere I looked—even free standing in mid-air. I looked behind one door, only seeing the back of it. No light was emanating from the bottom. It was like someone had suspended the door with invisible piano wires, hanging from heaven.
Heaven. I doubted I was in heaven, but if I were in hell, wouldn’t I have had sunburn at that point? I did a complete three-sixty—nothing but the Starbucks across the street, the public park next door, and the hospital I died in.
And the doors. All of these damn doors.
I turned around to walk back to the hospital before I went face first into a new door. I closed my eyes and yelped.
What the hell? I thought to myself, rubbing my nose. This wasn’t here a second ago! My nose throbbed; maybe there was a ghost nurse who could give me an ice pack. But as I continued back to the hospital, I noticed that doors were fading in and out—even one forming under my feet. Did I really want to know where THAT door would lead? I knew I didn’t go to church as much as I should have in life, but it wasn’t something I wanted to throw the dice on.
I was relieved to find that I could still walk like I did in life; running was more of an option than a necessity. There were only a few ways to get me to run. Let me put it this way: what would I dooo for a Klondike bar?
As I approached the entrance of the emergency room, I waved my hand in front of the door, forgetting that the senor only picked up on living beings.
That’s the first time I really bothered to look at myself after I died.
I still looked human. My hands were as sharply defined as they ever had been. One of the few things anyone envied me for were my long, slim, graceful fingers and soft hands. I still had my tan skirt on, and the lace still allowed air to flow through it. My sky blue blouse still waved in the wind whenever I moved and my gold sandals still hugged my feet.
But my skin now glowed a soft sea green. It was like I walked through a spiritual candy coating machine and I no longer had pale skin that refused to tan.
When I looked closer, I saw tiny particles racing around in my skin, much like how I imagined my red blood cells did when I was alive. Fascinated, I stood outside the emergency room as EMTs raced past me with stretchers. As the soothing feeling enveloped me, the particles slowed down, not seeming to be in a hurry anymore. It wasn’t until I realized I was glowing that it was now nightfall.
I was about to go into the hospital but suddenly, I felt my feet lock into place, refusing to move. I kept trying to move forward, but then, I looked behind me, towards a door that was in the middle of a tree trunk. I began to stare longingly at it, the pit of my stomach vibrating the more I wished to go through it.
Particles of my body began to float towards the tree and I felt less inclined to go inside the hospital.
But what about Mom? I asked myself. I might have been a useless daughter, but I can at least see if she’s ok.
No, that was the most I could do. The best I could do was to let her free. Like I knew she always wanted and needed.
The more I thought about my mother and my decaying body, the more my energy went down, the particles falling away from me.
I focused on the door. I wanted to go through it. I couldn’t explain why. All I wanted was in.
Slowly, I pulled away from the hospital door and I found myself before the door. From head to toe, I was filled with pleasure and joy, and if I had tear ducts, I would have cried. Lunging forward, I grabbed the knob.
It refused to budge.
Frantically, I continued to twist the knob, wondering if I just turned it a certain way, it would simply fly open. Did I need a key? Was there a secret knock? I began to pound on the door, yelling for the door to open. But to whom was I yelling? Who was the one who locked me out after drawing me near? Was this just another prank being pulled at my expense?
Before I could demand to know, an open door appeared under me, and I fell through.
(I guess she broke on through to the other side)