The Dark Cellar

021[1]I try to avoid it. But I opened the door yesterday. I really don’t understand what I was thinking. Perhaps I had put it aside for so long, the urge just decided to pop back into my head on its own. But wait. No, it wasn’t an urge at all. Your prompt just made it come to the foreground. I was outside the door and I couldn’t not open it.

It is dark. And as every time before, I tripped on the stairway. You hate it when I stumble. Plus I know you question why I am even trying to descend the eerie staircase. However, it’s not like I picked the lock. The door is unbarred, and today it was ajar. I don’t want to be here. But I feel I have to be. We must meet in this dank, cold, haunted chamber. You have never wanted me there, and believe me, I have avoided it.

But now I know we need to see each other here. I wonder if either of us are ready.

I don’t know how to find my way in the blackness.

“I’m frustrated that you fall right away,” you say

“I only am familiar with a small part of the staircase,” I answer.

“So ask where the light is, instead of continuing with your stumbling,” you retort.

“I thought if you wanted me to see, you would turn the light on for me,” I mumble back.

“I get tired of the way you ask. It puts me on the defensive” you add. “It’s not something I want analyzed,” you hit me with. “That’s why I get upset. You ask all the wrong ways.”

“Tell me, then. Illuminate my path.”

“Tell you what? Ask me a direct question.”

Although you don’t mean it to be, I know this is a trap. I will fall, and most likely hurt myself. And probably you.

“No, not tonight,” I answer. “It doesn’t matter” I lie.

 

 

 

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