The door can open. I can walk through it. I can smell fresh air.
My chest is squeezing tight, my heart feels squashed, my lungs constricted by an internal boa.
The door can be opened, I can turn the handle, pull it ajar to smell the fresh air.
Sweat covers my body, dripping into my eyes. My hands are shivering, my knee quivering.
Can I open the door? Can I touch the lever? Will the door open?
My legs refuse to move. I lean forward to walk but I don’t move ahead.
Maybe I can touch the door tomorrow.
Written by Rodney Goodall
Owner of NibbleReads.