Terminable illness | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Terminable illness | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jonathan Turnbough
03/06/06
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Dmitri clenched his stiff fists within the pockets of his overcoat and quickened his pace through the cluttered alley. He passed to the left of an overfilled dumpster, grimacing at the pronounced stench that met his nostrils. The smell, tinged with the scent of fresh drizzle on warm asphalt, wafted lingeringly on the close air of the dim passageway. “Gotta love the city,” the cold man muttered to himself as he squinted for some sign of his destination along the seemingly endless stretch of old concrete and clouded windows.

“It’s—it’s going to be fine,” he blurted to himself, “it’s…and what if it’s not? What choice, what options do I have? I’m not perfect, for goodness’…I’ve simply gone the way of all men, and that’s that—and what if I could go back? Would I change anything, could I change?” His moist brow furrowed; he stopped and stared at the ground. He stood quite still for some time; an internal debate seemed to be drawing to a pause. “Is this right?” he questioned the darkness, raising his gaze and scanning ahead and behind. “He said ‘Left off Sixth Street, then two blocks past the old record store.’” He looked back over his shoulder for several moments, seeming to measure how far he had come. Exhaling heavily, he moved on.

Thirty paces further, Dmitri approached a small doorway on his left. He stopped at the base of the steps and surveyed the odd-looking door. The design of the wood wasn’t unusual; it was its size and color. The ever-present graffiti lining the walls was conspicuously absent from the crimson-painted little door, as though the garish slanders refused to stick to this particular surface. Especially queer was its scale—about three feet high and sixteen inches across, as if designed for a little child. “I didn’t know I was coming to join the lollipop guild,” piped Dmitri in his best munchkin.

Mounting the first two steps, Dmitri noticed a sign above the doorknob. “Turn and enter,” he read aloud. “Hmm…” He mused for a moment, then rapped his knuckles three times on the door. He waited in muted anxiety, looking away towards each end of the alley. He paused once more, then hesitatingly grasped the cold metal of the knob, intending to follow the apparently straightforward instructions. It would not turn either way. “Locked,” he mumbled with finality. “I figured as much. Well, what does it matter.” The sarcasm in his voice was evident even to himself. He turned slowly and sat on the top step, leaning against the door.

He sat there without resting, looking and not seeing, thinking and wanting to be able to cease the endless, useless circle of reason. “I’m so tired. I’m so tired of me. Why do we do what we do?” he thought. “Why anything?” he added, a mirthless smile etching his weathered face. “Why do anything? Why not do anything? What control do I have over my own person, this boiling, churning slop of notions and urges? Why am I troubled, when I would do it all over again? Would I do it again? How would I not?” The wretched mental exercises went on with beleaguered familiarity. “I have apologized—and am I sorry?” he mused, sighing hopelessly.

The drizzle had slackened; the weary man looked up at the small patch of sky visible beyond the crowded urban structures. The clouds were past. He stared at the moonless, sparkling expanse and recalled his boyhood. He remembered sunny summer days, tree houses, ice cream, Sunday school. He remembered the ease, the wonder of it all. He winced at the memory of his first lie. “Why does it have to change?” he thought, feeling his utter weariness to his core. “I’m so tired of everything. I just don’t know what to do,” he whispered, slowly rising to stumble back down the steaming alley into his ongoing misery.

Dmitri had a quick thought; he turned and reached for the door. The knob spun easily in his hand. The door cracked, and radiance poured from within, revealing the darkest corners of the alley. He timidly pushed the small door open further, crouching to look in on what he had expected—a dingy flat. What he saw was a vibrant, untamed-looking country of indescribable warmth and beauty. A genuine smile surprised his face; he shed the heavy overcoat and stepped into the blue unknown.

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