Bit of fiction I wrote.
William
~1
This is the story of a small Boy, a very small Boy to be quite precise. This story could start with an intonation of the phrase, 'A long time ago...' yet while it occurs in the past, this past is not so far gone as one may think.
This small Boy, he lived in a cave. Twelve pillars of fire blocked the opening of the cave. These pillars were as tall as the cave was high, and they formed a line that spanned the width of the cave completely. The pillars prevented the Boy from leaving the cave, and in return provided protection from the elements as well as warmth and light.
The entire reality of the Boy’s world was this small cave. The area was divided into four ‘rooms’, each room having a specific function. One was a bedroom, and contained a small bed and other quintessential items, items like a dresser for his plentiful supply of clothing, a washstand which was always full of fresh, cool water, and a lamp stand, which bore an ever-burning lamp that never ran low on oil. To the north of the bedroom was the dining room. Every morning when the Boy awoke he walked over to the dining room and ate his fill of the food that was always there when he arose. North of the dining room stood the pillars of fire, setting off a moody glow that made the Boy feel hungry the moment he stepped into the room. To the east of the dining room was a circular, multipurpose room. Here the light was bright and cherry, making it easy for the Boy to see. The Boy played in this room often, amusing himself for endless hours with his toys. To the south of the circular room was another room, one the Boy seldom entered. This room was completely devoid of objects; its walls contained no decorations. The sole occupant of the room was a tall, dark door made of wood. Surrounding the door was scrollwork of intricate detail, curving into impossible designs, weaving in and out of a convoluted carving that would have been impossible to create by hand, had it not already been hand carved. The door itself held equally intricate relief carvings, carvings of trees, birds and animals.
The Boy often stood next to the door, tracing his small fingers over the designs in wonder. There were leaves, pieces of grass, flowers, all carved with such wonderful detail that they seemed ready to wave with the next wind, or gentle breath.
Here in this world, protected by twelve pillars of fire, the toys never broke, the carpet never wore thin, the lights never dimmed, the food never ran low, and the oaken door never opened.
~2
It was Monday, or so the Boy was told by the calendar that hung above the head of his bed. Every morning the current day was marked with a green circle, and the days before marked with a red dash. The green circle never appeared on any day but the current one, and the previous days were always marked red, so the Boy was never confused. Each circle was perfectly symmetrical in every way, had the Boy cared to he could have taken a ruler and measured it. That is, if he had had a ruler to measure with, and the desire to measure circles with rulers.
Monday was bicycle day. After eating the spiced oatmeal and toast he found on the table in the dining room, the Boy ran over to the circular room. His small feet padded upon the polished wooden floor in the dining room as he ran, shoes and socks were not required here, unless they were desired.
There were no toys in the circular room today; today there were only bicycles. Bicycles of every size, color, and major brand name. Ranging from Shwin to Raliegh to Huffy, the various name brands lined the south side of the circular room one after the other. The Boy grabbed a red Huffy, just his size, and began to pedal with a vengeance. Up, around, down, back and forth he went. On Bicycle Day, a large dip appeared in the center of the toy room. The dip was perfect for cruising around on, performing tricks with, and gaining great speed. The Boy loved it, shooting around the room endlessly on any bike he wanted.
He was not sure why he liked it, he only knew he did. It was fun. But then, he never did anything that wasn’t fun, so how was he to know what fun truly was? Unbothered by doubts such as these -- he rarely thought about things he didn’t understand or comprehend, as he wasn’t compelled to -- the Boy continued to pedal around furiously. After awhile he grew bored with the bike he was riding. He coasted up to the row of bicycles, and let the Huffy fall carelessly to the side. After a moment of deliberation he grabbed at a large twenty-four inch mountain bike. This bike was bigger, and most certainly faster than the small Huffy. It had all the prerequisites for extra speed: shiny chrome, obnoxiously large gear shifters, and true-blue hand breaks, perfect for performing stoppies, wheelies with the rear wheel.
He barely made it onto the bike; it was so much larger than he. He pushed off on the floor, and vaulted his rear onto the seat. Shifting like a maniac, the Boy cruised around the dip in the floor, using the natural curve to increase his speed. The bike was too big for him, but he didn’t care. Faster, and faster he flew, his hair rustling with the breeze he was generating. Then, the floor shifted. The cave flexed, the walls bent, the floor heaved, and the Boy flew off of his bicycle.
Everything went black.
~3
It was Tuesday, or so the Boy was told by the calendar that hung above his bed. Every morning the current day was marked with a green circle, and the days before marked with a red dash. The green circle never appeared on any day but the current one, so the Boy was never confused. Each circle was perfectly symmetrical in every way, had the Boy cared to he could have taken compass and measured it. That is, if he had had the desire to confirm things he cared nothing about.
Tuesday was a normal day like any other. Today the light emanating from the pillars seemed a little brighter than normal to the Boy, perhaps something good was going to happen to him. Nothing ever did happen out of the ordinary, but he thought something might happen from force of habit. How he had obtained the habit he didn’t know, or care.
The Boy threw his clothing on in a rush, the t-shirt slid over his head like it was made of jello. Pants, and some socks completed the ensemble. The socks were one hundred percent wool, absolutely perfect for sliding across the highly polished floor in the dining room. The carpeting in his bedroom gave him a grip, allowing the Boy to gain speed before launching himself into the dining room at a high velocity. He giggled as he slid across the floor, past the dining room table and into the wall.
The breakfast waiting for him on the dining room table was fried eggs with toast, the eggs done sunny-side-up –- just how he liked them. Munching with a vengeance the Boy imagined what he would do today. The worlds he would create, the galaxies he would dominate, all in his head of course. But that did not matter, for it was fun.
The Lego’s poured out of the large industrial-grade box they were stored in like the rushing of a plastic wave against a wooden shore that they were. Pieces were scattered everywhere, the Boy wallowed in the chaos like a pig in mud. In his mind he imagined the construction of dozens of magnificent creations. Towers taller than he, castles with hundreds of figurines lining the walls, a complete city with a working irrigation system. For hours he played, focusing his creative talent on this construction. He was absorbed in it, lost within his own mind. For hours he could go on without noticing that time had passed.
But someone noticed time passing.
Without fail the dinner bell rang, and the Boy bounded out of the chaos he had created with the Lego's. Today there was pizza for lunch, pizza with pepperoni, the Boy’s favorite.
The pizza was greasy, just a tad greasier than the Boy liked it. He didn't complain however, as he had learned long ago that complaints yielded undesirable results, especially in the food category. So he ate contentedly, and quickly. He wanted to get back to his toys.
~4
It was Wednesday, or so the Boy was told by the calendar that hung above his bed. Every morning the current day was marked with a green circle, and the days before marked with a red dash. The green circle never appeared on any day but the current one, so the Boy was never confused. Each circle was perfectly symmetrical in every way. The Boy had measured it last Wednesday with compass and ruler, just to confirm his suspicions.
Today was education day. Wednesday's were always education days. The playroom had been transformed from a playroom, to a classroom. The work wasn't hard; in fact the Boy enjoyed it immensely. There was simple arithmetic, spelling contests (with himself, naturally), and art hours. The Boy particularly enjoyed the art hour. It was then that he was allowed to pull out a box larger than he, and dig into it to find just the right shade of vermilion for his crayon art images.
At exactly the right time the dinner bell rang, and school day was over. The Boy didn't bother to put his crayons back into their box, nor did he bother to clean up the mess of schoolwork that was scattered all over the playroom. Why should he, when the room was always clean when he entered it again?
Dinner today was something the Boy had never seen before. He tasted it hesitantly; it had a distinct pickle flavor, with a slight bit of chocolate mixed in. He rather liked the combination though, and he heartily scooped the mixture out of its bowl into his mouth.
Bedtime arrived quickly after dinner. The Boy particularly liked bedtime, besides sliding over the dining room floor on his cotton woolen socks, or racing his bike around the dip in the playroom, sleeping was his favorite activity.
In his bedroom his nightshirt and sleeping pants were laid out on his bed. There was a small hamper next to the foot of the bed for him to put the clothing he had used today, and he hurriedly used it for just that purpose. As the lights went out and the Boy tucked the blankets closer to his chin, he smiled slightly. It had been a fun day.
The Boy awoke suddenly, an echo ringing in his ears. His eyes were wide open, and he felt a slight surge of fear. "Danger Will Robinson!" he whispered to himself. Friday was TV day, and Lost In Space was his favorite show.
A scream pierced the cave, and another echo followed it. The Boy crawled out of bed and snuck toward the door of his bedroom. Cautiously he poked his head out, and glanced either way. The lighting was dimmer than normal for some reason. He didn't really notice it, but one of the pillars of fire had winked out of existence.
A moan echoed throughout the cave. The Boy couldn't tell which direction it was coming from, so he began to search each room. There were only two other rooms aside from his bedroom, and it took only a few seconds to search them.
Puzzled, the Boy stood in the playroom and scratched his head. Another scream startled him, and he looked about wildly. There was only one room left to look in, and the Boy entered it. Like always, there was nothing in this room. The Boy had tried to put things in this room before, but every time he left the objects he left behind disappeared, never to appear again.
He was about to leave the room, when his eyes fell upon the Oaken Door. The Door seemed to be glowing slightly, as if illuminated by its own light.
Crouching near the Oaken Door, the Boy pressed his ear to the wood and listened. It felt warm to the touch, but he couldn't hear anything. The sound of a scream once again ripped through the air of the cave, and the Boy flinched. The scream pierced him to his core.
Desperately he pushed on the door, trying to make it open. Another scream went through the cave, and the Boy whimpered as it faded away. Again he pushed the door, something deep inside him driving him to a try find a way out. His fingers scrabbled over the intricate carvings, searching for a lever, a button, anything!
Finally he slumped to the ground with his back to the door, exhausted. Another scream echoed throughout the cave, rousing urgency within him, but he was too worn out to act upon the feeling. It had been a long day, and he wanted to sleep desperately.
~5
The door creaked, and the Boy's head snapped up. His eyes opened, the lids slightly hampered by the work of the Sand Man. He had fallen asleep. The Door creaked again, and the Boy stood and turned to see what was happening. A small sliver of a gap had appeared in the middle of the Door, it was opening. A scream rent the calm atmosphere of the cave, reminding the Boy why he was here, and not in bed. The Door opened some more. The crack was now an inch wide, and the Boy could see through it just slightly. It was dark, so dark that the Boy couldn't make out anything. As the Door creaked some more the Boy ran to his bedroom and grabbed his flashlight. It was a nice flashlight, the kind that were advertised on TV as being as powerful as a million candles. Returning to the Oaken Door, the Boy saw that the gap was now six inches wide. He flicked his flashlight on, and shined it into the crack. He could see a floor, much like the one in his bedroom, and he could see some smooth walls, but beyond that there was nothing more than an inky blackness.
A scream, and the creaking of the Door came in tandem this time, as if they were one. It seemed as if the screams were straining to open the Door. With one final effort the Door tried to withstand the wishes of the scream, but at last it was forced to yield. The Doors were both flung open, and the Boy was left with a view of an eternally black passageway.
The cave was getting smaller now. The Boy had been too absorbed to notice it when he had grabbed his flashlight, but his bedroom had been half its normal size. Now, the playroom was almost gone. The pillars of light, always so ever-bright, began to wink out rapidly. The Boy crept forward toward the dark passageway, his curiosity piqued. Behind him, the cave continued to shrink in a very abnormal manner.
His light pierced forward into the passageway, penetrating deep. Yet, the Boy could see no end to the tunnel. He took one step forward, and then another, until he was completely inside the passageway. Uncertainty gripped him as he passed by the Oaken Doors and he glanced back. The last pillar of light winked out, and the Boy was left with naught but his flashlight for illumination.
"No!" he cried out, and he turned to run back. He stepped forward, and ran into the Oaken Doors. His light played over the surface of the Doors -- they were closed.
"No!" he cried out again. This side of the Doors was plainer than the inside. He could still tell that it was wood, but there were none of the impossibly intricate carvings, none of the leaves and grass relief's he had once occupied himself by exploring.
He heard a scream again, but this time it didn't seem to emanate from the cave, it came from down the passageway. The Boy's light moved forward as if with a mind of its own, and the Boy turned from the Oaken Doors. Another scream rent the air, and the Boy started walking. Tears welled up in his eyes, and fear clutched his heart, but he continued on down the tunnel.
Then, even the passageway began to close in upon him. No longer was it taller than the Oaken Doors, now it was just barley tall enough for him to stand upright in. He whimpered slightly when he realized this; he didn't like tight spaces that much. He turned, and tried to walk back toward the Oaken Doors, but lo-and-behold, the Oaken Doors were directly behind him. The Boy gasped when he felt and saw them there. They were smaller as well, slightly smaller than the Boy himself.
He would have sat down and cried right then and there if it hadn't been for yet another scream. However, this scream was accompanied by a deep voice. The voice was muffled, but the Boy thought he heard it say "You can do it!".
"No I can't!" screamed the Boy.
"Yes you can!" said the muffled voice. "You can do it!"
The Boy stood. Someone was rooting for him, and that thought gave him courage. He once again began stepping forward. As he moved on the passageway became narrower and narrower, and shorter. Soon he was required to begin crawling, and presently he had to drop his flashlight to keep going. He wasn't very perturbed by having to do that though, an excitement now beat in his chest. The adrenalin was running through his body, just like when he rode his bikes hard and fast. As he pushed on, the Boy noticed that the walls of the cavern were getting soft, as if they were made of rubber. He crawled on.
A glimpse of light suddenly appeared, hurting his eyes. He had been without his flashlight for quite some time now, and his eyes were used to the darkness. He was on his belly, inching his way through a passageway that was only a foot high. The light flashed again, and the Boy could hear noises. Voices, he could hear voices.
"I'm coming!" he cried out with excitement. He pushed forward again, and suddenly his head popped out of the opening. Blinding light hit his eyes, and they closed out of reflex. The memories of his cave, the pillars of fire, the playroom, they all began to bleed out of his head like water out of a tap. The Boy gasped as he felt the cold air hit his face.
"Almost there!" cried a voice, and the Boy gave one final surge forward. Except, it wasn't him who pushed, it was the passageway.
The Boy tried to open his eyes to see where he was, but the eyelids wouldn't respond. He tried to stand up, but firm hands held him tight. The cold air shocked his body, and he could feel his hands tighten into fists. The tears he had held back earlier now began to flow, and he opened his mouth to cry.
"Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Robinson," said a voice, as the Boy started crying with uncontrollable violence. "It's a boy. Would you like to hold him?"
William
~1
This is the story of a small Boy, a very small Boy to be quite precise. This story could start with an intonation of the phrase, 'A long time ago...' yet while it occurs in the past, this past is not so far gone as one may think.
This small Boy, he lived in a cave. Twelve pillars of fire blocked the opening of the cave. These pillars were as tall as the cave was high, and they formed a line that spanned the width of the cave completely. The pillars prevented the Boy from leaving the cave, and in return provided protection from the elements as well as warmth and light.
The entire reality of the Boy’s world was this small cave. The area was divided into four ‘rooms’, each room having a specific function. One was a bedroom, and contained a small bed and other quintessential items, items like a dresser for his plentiful supply of clothing, a washstand which was always full of fresh, cool water, and a lamp stand, which bore an ever-burning lamp that never ran low on oil. To the north of the bedroom was the dining room. Every morning when the Boy awoke he walked over to the dining room and ate his fill of the food that was always there when he arose. North of the dining room stood the pillars of fire, setting off a moody glow that made the Boy feel hungry the moment he stepped into the room. To the east of the dining room was a circular, multipurpose room. Here the light was bright and cherry, making it easy for the Boy to see. The Boy played in this room often, amusing himself for endless hours with his toys. To the south of the circular room was another room, one the Boy seldom entered. This room was completely devoid of objects; its walls contained no decorations. The sole occupant of the room was a tall, dark door made of wood. Surrounding the door was scrollwork of intricate detail, curving into impossible designs, weaving in and out of a convoluted carving that would have been impossible to create by hand, had it not already been hand carved. The door itself held equally intricate relief carvings, carvings of trees, birds and animals.
The Boy often stood next to the door, tracing his small fingers over the designs in wonder. There were leaves, pieces of grass, flowers, all carved with such wonderful detail that they seemed ready to wave with the next wind, or gentle breath.
Here in this world, protected by twelve pillars of fire, the toys never broke, the carpet never wore thin, the lights never dimmed, the food never ran low, and the oaken door never opened.
~2
It was Monday, or so the Boy was told by the calendar that hung above the head of his bed. Every morning the current day was marked with a green circle, and the days before marked with a red dash. The green circle never appeared on any day but the current one, and the previous days were always marked red, so the Boy was never confused. Each circle was perfectly symmetrical in every way, had the Boy cared to he could have taken a ruler and measured it. That is, if he had had a ruler to measure with, and the desire to measure circles with rulers.
Monday was bicycle day. After eating the spiced oatmeal and toast he found on the table in the dining room, the Boy ran over to the circular room. His small feet padded upon the polished wooden floor in the dining room as he ran, shoes and socks were not required here, unless they were desired.
There were no toys in the circular room today; today there were only bicycles. Bicycles of every size, color, and major brand name. Ranging from Shwin to Raliegh to Huffy, the various name brands lined the south side of the circular room one after the other. The Boy grabbed a red Huffy, just his size, and began to pedal with a vengeance. Up, around, down, back and forth he went. On Bicycle Day, a large dip appeared in the center of the toy room. The dip was perfect for cruising around on, performing tricks with, and gaining great speed. The Boy loved it, shooting around the room endlessly on any bike he wanted.
He was not sure why he liked it, he only knew he did. It was fun. But then, he never did anything that wasn’t fun, so how was he to know what fun truly was? Unbothered by doubts such as these -- he rarely thought about things he didn’t understand or comprehend, as he wasn’t compelled to -- the Boy continued to pedal around furiously. After awhile he grew bored with the bike he was riding. He coasted up to the row of bicycles, and let the Huffy fall carelessly to the side. After a moment of deliberation he grabbed at a large twenty-four inch mountain bike. This bike was bigger, and most certainly faster than the small Huffy. It had all the prerequisites for extra speed: shiny chrome, obnoxiously large gear shifters, and true-blue hand breaks, perfect for performing stoppies, wheelies with the rear wheel.
He barely made it onto the bike; it was so much larger than he. He pushed off on the floor, and vaulted his rear onto the seat. Shifting like a maniac, the Boy cruised around the dip in the floor, using the natural curve to increase his speed. The bike was too big for him, but he didn’t care. Faster, and faster he flew, his hair rustling with the breeze he was generating. Then, the floor shifted. The cave flexed, the walls bent, the floor heaved, and the Boy flew off of his bicycle.
Everything went black.
~3
It was Tuesday, or so the Boy was told by the calendar that hung above his bed. Every morning the current day was marked with a green circle, and the days before marked with a red dash. The green circle never appeared on any day but the current one, so the Boy was never confused. Each circle was perfectly symmetrical in every way, had the Boy cared to he could have taken compass and measured it. That is, if he had had the desire to confirm things he cared nothing about.
Tuesday was a normal day like any other. Today the light emanating from the pillars seemed a little brighter than normal to the Boy, perhaps something good was going to happen to him. Nothing ever did happen out of the ordinary, but he thought something might happen from force of habit. How he had obtained the habit he didn’t know, or care.
The Boy threw his clothing on in a rush, the t-shirt slid over his head like it was made of jello. Pants, and some socks completed the ensemble. The socks were one hundred percent wool, absolutely perfect for sliding across the highly polished floor in the dining room. The carpeting in his bedroom gave him a grip, allowing the Boy to gain speed before launching himself into the dining room at a high velocity. He giggled as he slid across the floor, past the dining room table and into the wall.
The breakfast waiting for him on the dining room table was fried eggs with toast, the eggs done sunny-side-up –- just how he liked them. Munching with a vengeance the Boy imagined what he would do today. The worlds he would create, the galaxies he would dominate, all in his head of course. But that did not matter, for it was fun.
The Lego’s poured out of the large industrial-grade box they were stored in like the rushing of a plastic wave against a wooden shore that they were. Pieces were scattered everywhere, the Boy wallowed in the chaos like a pig in mud. In his mind he imagined the construction of dozens of magnificent creations. Towers taller than he, castles with hundreds of figurines lining the walls, a complete city with a working irrigation system. For hours he played, focusing his creative talent on this construction. He was absorbed in it, lost within his own mind. For hours he could go on without noticing that time had passed.
But someone noticed time passing.
Without fail the dinner bell rang, and the Boy bounded out of the chaos he had created with the Lego's. Today there was pizza for lunch, pizza with pepperoni, the Boy’s favorite.
The pizza was greasy, just a tad greasier than the Boy liked it. He didn't complain however, as he had learned long ago that complaints yielded undesirable results, especially in the food category. So he ate contentedly, and quickly. He wanted to get back to his toys.
~4
It was Wednesday, or so the Boy was told by the calendar that hung above his bed. Every morning the current day was marked with a green circle, and the days before marked with a red dash. The green circle never appeared on any day but the current one, so the Boy was never confused. Each circle was perfectly symmetrical in every way. The Boy had measured it last Wednesday with compass and ruler, just to confirm his suspicions.
Today was education day. Wednesday's were always education days. The playroom had been transformed from a playroom, to a classroom. The work wasn't hard; in fact the Boy enjoyed it immensely. There was simple arithmetic, spelling contests (with himself, naturally), and art hours. The Boy particularly enjoyed the art hour. It was then that he was allowed to pull out a box larger than he, and dig into it to find just the right shade of vermilion for his crayon art images.
At exactly the right time the dinner bell rang, and school day was over. The Boy didn't bother to put his crayons back into their box, nor did he bother to clean up the mess of schoolwork that was scattered all over the playroom. Why should he, when the room was always clean when he entered it again?
Dinner today was something the Boy had never seen before. He tasted it hesitantly; it had a distinct pickle flavor, with a slight bit of chocolate mixed in. He rather liked the combination though, and he heartily scooped the mixture out of its bowl into his mouth.
Bedtime arrived quickly after dinner. The Boy particularly liked bedtime, besides sliding over the dining room floor on his cotton woolen socks, or racing his bike around the dip in the playroom, sleeping was his favorite activity.
In his bedroom his nightshirt and sleeping pants were laid out on his bed. There was a small hamper next to the foot of the bed for him to put the clothing he had used today, and he hurriedly used it for just that purpose. As the lights went out and the Boy tucked the blankets closer to his chin, he smiled slightly. It had been a fun day.
The Boy awoke suddenly, an echo ringing in his ears. His eyes were wide open, and he felt a slight surge of fear. "Danger Will Robinson!" he whispered to himself. Friday was TV day, and Lost In Space was his favorite show.
A scream pierced the cave, and another echo followed it. The Boy crawled out of bed and snuck toward the door of his bedroom. Cautiously he poked his head out, and glanced either way. The lighting was dimmer than normal for some reason. He didn't really notice it, but one of the pillars of fire had winked out of existence.
A moan echoed throughout the cave. The Boy couldn't tell which direction it was coming from, so he began to search each room. There were only two other rooms aside from his bedroom, and it took only a few seconds to search them.
Puzzled, the Boy stood in the playroom and scratched his head. Another scream startled him, and he looked about wildly. There was only one room left to look in, and the Boy entered it. Like always, there was nothing in this room. The Boy had tried to put things in this room before, but every time he left the objects he left behind disappeared, never to appear again.
He was about to leave the room, when his eyes fell upon the Oaken Door. The Door seemed to be glowing slightly, as if illuminated by its own light.
Crouching near the Oaken Door, the Boy pressed his ear to the wood and listened. It felt warm to the touch, but he couldn't hear anything. The sound of a scream once again ripped through the air of the cave, and the Boy flinched. The scream pierced him to his core.
Desperately he pushed on the door, trying to make it open. Another scream went through the cave, and the Boy whimpered as it faded away. Again he pushed the door, something deep inside him driving him to a try find a way out. His fingers scrabbled over the intricate carvings, searching for a lever, a button, anything!
Finally he slumped to the ground with his back to the door, exhausted. Another scream echoed throughout the cave, rousing urgency within him, but he was too worn out to act upon the feeling. It had been a long day, and he wanted to sleep desperately.
~5
The door creaked, and the Boy's head snapped up. His eyes opened, the lids slightly hampered by the work of the Sand Man. He had fallen asleep. The Door creaked again, and the Boy stood and turned to see what was happening. A small sliver of a gap had appeared in the middle of the Door, it was opening. A scream rent the calm atmosphere of the cave, reminding the Boy why he was here, and not in bed. The Door opened some more. The crack was now an inch wide, and the Boy could see through it just slightly. It was dark, so dark that the Boy couldn't make out anything. As the Door creaked some more the Boy ran to his bedroom and grabbed his flashlight. It was a nice flashlight, the kind that were advertised on TV as being as powerful as a million candles. Returning to the Oaken Door, the Boy saw that the gap was now six inches wide. He flicked his flashlight on, and shined it into the crack. He could see a floor, much like the one in his bedroom, and he could see some smooth walls, but beyond that there was nothing more than an inky blackness.
A scream, and the creaking of the Door came in tandem this time, as if they were one. It seemed as if the screams were straining to open the Door. With one final effort the Door tried to withstand the wishes of the scream, but at last it was forced to yield. The Doors were both flung open, and the Boy was left with a view of an eternally black passageway.
The cave was getting smaller now. The Boy had been too absorbed to notice it when he had grabbed his flashlight, but his bedroom had been half its normal size. Now, the playroom was almost gone. The pillars of light, always so ever-bright, began to wink out rapidly. The Boy crept forward toward the dark passageway, his curiosity piqued. Behind him, the cave continued to shrink in a very abnormal manner.
His light pierced forward into the passageway, penetrating deep. Yet, the Boy could see no end to the tunnel. He took one step forward, and then another, until he was completely inside the passageway. Uncertainty gripped him as he passed by the Oaken Doors and he glanced back. The last pillar of light winked out, and the Boy was left with naught but his flashlight for illumination.
"No!" he cried out, and he turned to run back. He stepped forward, and ran into the Oaken Doors. His light played over the surface of the Doors -- they were closed.
"No!" he cried out again. This side of the Doors was plainer than the inside. He could still tell that it was wood, but there were none of the impossibly intricate carvings, none of the leaves and grass relief's he had once occupied himself by exploring.
He heard a scream again, but this time it didn't seem to emanate from the cave, it came from down the passageway. The Boy's light moved forward as if with a mind of its own, and the Boy turned from the Oaken Doors. Another scream rent the air, and the Boy started walking. Tears welled up in his eyes, and fear clutched his heart, but he continued on down the tunnel.
Then, even the passageway began to close in upon him. No longer was it taller than the Oaken Doors, now it was just barley tall enough for him to stand upright in. He whimpered slightly when he realized this; he didn't like tight spaces that much. He turned, and tried to walk back toward the Oaken Doors, but lo-and-behold, the Oaken Doors were directly behind him. The Boy gasped when he felt and saw them there. They were smaller as well, slightly smaller than the Boy himself.
He would have sat down and cried right then and there if it hadn't been for yet another scream. However, this scream was accompanied by a deep voice. The voice was muffled, but the Boy thought he heard it say "You can do it!".
"No I can't!" screamed the Boy.
"Yes you can!" said the muffled voice. "You can do it!"
The Boy stood. Someone was rooting for him, and that thought gave him courage. He once again began stepping forward. As he moved on the passageway became narrower and narrower, and shorter. Soon he was required to begin crawling, and presently he had to drop his flashlight to keep going. He wasn't very perturbed by having to do that though, an excitement now beat in his chest. The adrenalin was running through his body, just like when he rode his bikes hard and fast. As he pushed on, the Boy noticed that the walls of the cavern were getting soft, as if they were made of rubber. He crawled on.
A glimpse of light suddenly appeared, hurting his eyes. He had been without his flashlight for quite some time now, and his eyes were used to the darkness. He was on his belly, inching his way through a passageway that was only a foot high. The light flashed again, and the Boy could hear noises. Voices, he could hear voices.
"I'm coming!" he cried out with excitement. He pushed forward again, and suddenly his head popped out of the opening. Blinding light hit his eyes, and they closed out of reflex. The memories of his cave, the pillars of fire, the playroom, they all began to bleed out of his head like water out of a tap. The Boy gasped as he felt the cold air hit his face.
"Almost there!" cried a voice, and the Boy gave one final surge forward. Except, it wasn't him who pushed, it was the passageway.
The Boy tried to open his eyes to see where he was, but the eyelids wouldn't respond. He tried to stand up, but firm hands held him tight. The cold air shocked his body, and he could feel his hands tighten into fists. The tears he had held back earlier now began to flow, and he opened his mouth to cry.
"Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Robinson," said a voice, as the Boy started crying with uncontrollable violence. "It's a boy. Would you like to hold him?"
