Narrative Writing

b) Write a story that starts with the opening of a door to a room that you are not supposed to
enter.

Like a tiger catching its prey, he closely eyed his surroundings in order to get to his prey;
which was in this case; the unknown prizes which were hidden behind the old obsolete
wooden door painted with the colors of a dark stormy night. Goosebumps sprouted to life as
the door creaked immediately upon his push. Old libraries and graveyards and something
else- something he couldn’t put his finger on- came wooshing along with dust that inevitably
made him take a step back and cough. Soon before he knew it, his curiosity was making him
move forward into the unknown with a mind of its own.

His tongue darted out and wetted his already parched lips while his eyes barely made out
what was ahead of him. Almost falling when his feet first collided with a staircase, he
touched the dust mite-infested wall to regain his balance and started walking down, firmly
gripping his trusty flashlight. Going down, he ran his hand along the handrailing and felt the
finest and smoothest wood, carved with an eye-pleasing pattern of birds. Starting with a tiny
hummingbird and ending with a fearsome eagle. As if he’d done it a million times, as if it was
a routine he’d practiced his entire life, he traced and played with the birds using the tips of
his fingers slowly as he crept down the stars. Soon after he reached the bottom, his head
crashed into something lightweight, he looked up trying to figure out what hit him.

In addition to his discovery of the light bulb that welcomed him to the room with a knock on
the head, he immediately realized today would be a promising day regardless of his foul
mood earlier which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The antiquated room pleased
him with treasures before his very own eyes, that if a child sees they would believe they were
from the era of kings and queens. “Maybe they are,” he thought, trying to amuse himself. At
first glance, a portrait of some king, Charles or William- he couldn’t precisely say for that he
never had paid any attention to history during his young age as he found it rather pointless
in studying, was hung on the light mud-colored wall. He started surveying the room, taking
note of the grandfather clock that stood tall at the far end of the room, the tapestry that
hung blocking the only way any light of the day was allowed into the room. The room
altogether- oh how picturesque- he thought, just when his head started to pound so painfully
that he believed he’ll breathe his last breath right there.

Pinning the migraine on the lofty walls and the size of the room, which happened to be so
small as if second by second it was closing in, he made his way up the stairs. From the corner
of his eye, he saw something move. And he realized they were- my god- dead birds, on each
step of the staircase. House wrens, they were. How could he have not noticed this before? He
knew his eyesight was poor but he couldn’t have been that blind, could he? One was almost
on the brink of death, ready to leave for the afterlife. He bent, examining them close-
“Ominous,” he thought, “such ominous lifeless things.” Even so, he didn’t have time to make
further opinions about them as he felt his heart constrict, together with him gasping for air.
The last thought he had before all his consciousness faded was “Maybe he shouldn’t have
come to the restricted old crime scene in the first place.”

He is standing in the middle of the room, looking around, he notices how immaculate and
spotless the room looks. So clean and dustless that he sees himself staring back from the
glass that covers the portrait of Charles II. Upon seeing it, his mouth made an O shape. His
snow-colored hair is now midnight black, and the wrinkles on his face have disappeared into
thin air. What on earth is this delusion? A voice bangs from outside, “Dad!”. The echoing
aggravates him, but he chooses to ignore it with the little self-control he has. “Dad! Dad!,” the
voice came again followed by the opening of a door. This fuels his annoyance, the need to
make it stop is overwhelming. Beads of sweat slides down his forehead and neck. He bites his
inner cheek in vexation, nearly tearing off the flesh. He couldn’t take it anymore, the beast
inside him was over-powering, he slowly says “Come here, my son” in a gravelly voice. The
little boy came closer to him and spoke, “Dad, mom is-” and then his voice faded out, just
like he did, out of this world, with God as his witness and the knife as his murderer.

Like a drum banging right beside his ears, his head was pounding and his eyes flew open
along with his attempt to get his body to cooperate with his mind to stand up. He flexed his
fingers on his right hand, almost feeling the murder weapon in his ridiculous dream- or
whatever that was. “He must be finally going insane”- he thought. And also registered by now
his daughter must’ve noticed his absence.

Lily, a girl with a personality that matches her name, stirred her father’s favorite type of
tea-thai ginger tea- she smiled, a real smile, at the knowledge of seeing her father get better
day by day compared to the past months after the accident, which led him to not being able
to recognize his own daughter’s face even. She was swaying her hips to the indistinct song
that came from her neighbor’s house until she moved past the kitchen to the living room
when the phone started ringing frantically. “Is this the guardian of the Amnesia Patient?”
asked the other end of the line. She agreed and they continued to speak. “We called to let you
know that-” the phone screeched making her slightly jump but what really made her jump
out of her skin was when the back door opened and closed loudly. “One minute,” she said to
the caller. “Dad” she called but got no response. She walked towards the kitchen and the
sight made her frightened and alarmed. “D-drop the A-axe”, she said, now shaking like a leaf
and her words panicky. Alas, she screamed. She screamed and screamed until her mouth
started to taste metallic and all her thoughts and awareness seemed to drift away. She always
wished to see her brother and mother, but never like this. “Hello? Ma’am?” came the voice on
the phone. “The accident! We found out what caused the car accident. He had bipolar,
Ma’am. It turned violent! Are you there? We need to get him to the hospital! Ma’am?”