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.

Maybe.

Written by Rodney Goodall

Owner of NibbleReads.