The Wall – A short story
“Now the doors.” Grand doors were etched out. The knobs, handles, hinges, and door itself were intricately designed. Then within the grand elaborate doors, she drew a small door. Plain and unassuming. There was no handle or knob only hinges. With this she sighed, hours had taken a toll on her and she exhaled all energy. Weak and dazed she looked to her husband. “What is everyone doing here?”
She looked around many people stood there looking at the garage wall. She rotated around to see the wall and there stood her wall, archway and all. She looked at her husband and he nodded.
After ushering her inside the house, he came out and thanked everyone for supporting her as she began to work her masterpiece. That if she comes out tomorrow they were welcome to come back as long as they did not talk to her during her work. They nodded. They walked away murmuring and questioning whether she was insane or a genius. They could not make a conclusion. They could not see what was in her head.
The next day she laid in bed and rested. The day after that she did the same. But the third day, food tickled her nose. She pulled her strength together and arose. It was a Saturday. She could hear the kids chattering in kitchen. Her husband bangs around. She hurried and got ready for the day. Pulling her hair back, she came in, kissed her husband, and hugged her kids. It was a good morning. She had dreamt the wall. But after the food was eaten and conversation finished, she walked outside and there hovered the intimidating wall. She exhaled and walked to the wall which stood where a street once stood. Looking at it, she saw the penciled drawn archway and the doors. There were groves were her pencil marked the stone. With her eyes closed, she moved over all the work with her hands, visualizing where and how she should continue.
Her husband went out into the garage and opened up the space. He led her back into the garage and whispered, “Your wall is ready for you to work on and your paints are right here.”
She dipped her clean brush into browns, blues, whites, and blacks. Colors danced and mingled as she tiptoed through the lines. Humming and flowing, to and fro, the archway became a hand carved stone entryway. The doors were laced with iron and gold. The archway and doors were elegantly stained. The flowers were stained in reds, pinks, purples, blues, and whites. The vines in an assortment of greens. The recesses were darkened as time had faded the black and dirt had piled into the nooks and crannies for a winter’s nap. The door was stained a simple oak but towards the bottom, it had weathered into patches of gray. These doors had been used many of times for many centuries. The unassuming plain door was simply plain in color, too. The iron and gold were tarnished and rusted in places. What a sight to see.