The Door

Every time the wind blew open the screen door, he thought of her. The old wooden door being slammed to it’s frame reminded him of the night she left. He often thought of fixing it, but, the sound brought back feelings he thought he’d left behind.

So he’d leave the door open in the spring and summer. Sat there in the kitchen listening to wood hit wood. He particularly liked it during tornado season. Warnings coming over the radio and the back door flapping a mile a minute.

It was the beginning of his life, that night she left. All his freedoms came back to him. He felt like his old self. Often he’d sit there and drink whiskey in a glass and plan his life ahead. Maybe it was time for him to take off too; sell the house and just wander; looking for nothing other than what the day brings you. Day dreams.

And, he knew why she left. They all leave for the same reason; a better deal. Well, she got her’s, a young man with money and fancy things; multi colored suits, Cadillac, a mile long, and a house up on a hill. She’d found her freedom.

The wind whipped hard that night. Half a bottle of Jack was gone. That’s what gave him the courage. He opened the screen door and felt rain on his face. Pellets hitting hard. Made his way out to his old Dodge and pulled a rifle off the gun rack. Soon I’ll be free, he thought. Soon.

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