Tuesday, February 3, 2009

The Light

He closed the door, his eyes shut tight, as though not watching might somehow mute the snapping lock.  He leaned against the door and heard the clomp...clomp of passing clogs against the wooden floor, and the muffled whispery giggles of the servant girls. He held his breath as silence fell and then he felt again, for the icy handle of the door. Fear forced the breath from his lungs as his palms and fingertips travelled up and down the door.  There was no icy handle. He was trapped. 

His eyes fought against the dark and it took him several seconds for his pupils to adjust. He turned and looked around, and could feel his eyes stretching wide, trying to make out shapes amid the inky black. His head began to spin, his balance thrown out by the lack of light. He blundered backward - stumbling up against the door. Frantically he searched for a button or a switch. Something that would spring the door and let him out. He couldn't yell. There was no one to help. He turned and leaned his head against the door, blinking back the tears that held his fear inside. The wooden door smelled dirty -  dank, and reminded him of being on the boat and he longed to be back aboard, sailing on the sea.

"Pssst." He heard the noise hiss through the air. Max stiffened at the sound and slowly turned around, his throat all but closed, his voice reduced to little more than a husky croak.
"Who's there?" His eyes scanned the blackness and then he spied it in the corner of the room. A tiny blob of light, the same colours as a peacock's feather. Blue- green-blue-green. It pulsed just like a heartbeat.


Katherine Battersby said...

I really like 'fingertips travelled up and down the door' and 'pulsed like a heart'. I learnt from Isobelle Carmody that the best descriptions are often simple and crisp - not overdone.

It's lovely watching your story grow each day :)

Zen Quill said...

Thanks so much. This story is travelling to places I never expected. These blogging exercises are definitely fun.