Wrong Door

*Guest Author Dawn Reif shares a powerful story with us all today. Thank-You Dawn!


BY: Dawn Reif

I walk down a path hearing the birds twitter their cute little song, and smell the scent of a newly bloomed lilac bush. The sky is a bright blue and kids are playing in the distance. My love is holding my hand as we approach his friend’s house. He wants to get me a gift that would make our newly found intimacy complete. He knocks on the door and hears a distant “Come in” demanding and forceful, impatient and it frightens me. My new love just squeezes and kisses my lips to reassure me and I enter.

There is a big mirror just inside the door reflecting the sun back outside as if to say, “Sun and beauty, you are not welcome here”. As my new love leads me further into this “house” I question where I am. For it seems like I am trespassing, somewhere I should not be, somewhere that was forbidden for me. These feelings push me forward and also tell my mind to flee. I scream with fear inside my head not knowing what I will find here.


The floor is covered in glass and debris, bare of furniture except for a very stained and torn couch. The darkness makes the ugliness sort of like a haze in which my mind can not make out and it is sort of hypnotizing. Swirls of smoke are everywhere like little apparitions or spirits who’ve been here but never wanted to flee, the swirling smoke circles all around me….spirits taking over…. what are they doing.

More people knock and more people enter. I have not seen this “friend” and my new love has gone to another room. The people enter and either sit on the stained couch or stand and mingle and wait. I am standing as if my feet were stuck in drying cement unable to make out what I think of this place.

Along comes a pit pull named Hucka and he goes from Guest to guest as if assessing their needs and feeling out the ones that are trustworthy or need to leave. He comes to a big burly guy full of muscles looking to keep up his status of the tough guy he gives Hucka a playful little sneer. A lady reaches out her hand almost pleading for his love… she is here lonely and sad. I am still wondering why I am here.

Some cheerful guy comes in and offers refreshments telling us he is in charge of the upkeep of this place. Where he kept it up I have no idea. My new love comes back with a small radio and his guitar his “Friend” enters and I could not believe my eyes and this sense of pity ran through me as I think I am seeing a walking corpse just barely alive.


At first, this “friend” is speaking of paranoia “oh man they want to shut me down” as if this were his factory, his livelihood his shop and what he peddles I have not yet known. My love hands him the guitar and he strums out what he thinks will be the newest best tune and the others are encouraging him to carry on. I’ve seen this pose before on Picoso’s very own “Blue” What was supposed to be hair on his head is like dried up hey all curly and dry. His bones are jutting out through his tattered clothes as he strums and pulls, the strings are about to break. My new love grows impatient.

Outcomes another guy with the “stuff” a pipe and a rock and they pass it around. I don’t do anything for at this time I am shaking my body is building up all of my nerves are tight and I only feel like puking. “It won’t be long now honey,” my new loves says with a reassuring smile and hands the guy the money and we are off…. This gift my new Honey…. the anxiety and the door shuts and the slam echoes in my ear…..

I made it out of there…

I picture now a big black ball and the house is shredded to pieces…..


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