A Door into the Past Pt. 11

So, I hope you are ready for part 11 because it is crazy and it is starting now. Enjoy!

Part 1.

Last Week.

Part 11.

As the water washed over him it burnt the torn flesh. He hardly felt the pain. His body was weak and numb. If he care more he would have probably gone to the hospital. But Marcus didn't care. Life hardly seemed worth living and he was finally going to get some answers. Turning off the water he jumped out of the shower and dried off. He put on his work clothes and walked over to the ax that he had gotten from the garage. Walking from the master bath to his bedroom and out into the hall. Marcus looked at the door. It seemed a waste that he was about to destroy it, but he was tired of not knowing.

The first crash did little more than dent the wood in the middle of the door. The second cut out a chunk between it and the first. Soon the wood was splintering in several places. Though Marcus was sweating and his forehead was bleeding again he did not stop. The door was thick. He was about an inch into it and his arms were burning. A few more strikes and he could tell it was weakening. Finally the ax got stuck as it broke through the door. Marcus put his eye up to the hole, but couldn't see anything. It was too small. He started again with the ax. The floor was thick with blood and splinters. It was a mess, but his goal was ever closer. Soon the hole was big enough that he could see what lied behind the door.

Looking into the hole Marcus saw a wall. Marcus started cutting at the door again, soon he was cutting at the far wall too. After a couple swats he could see through the wall. It led outside. He could see the yard and a tree that was growing to the side of the house.

Marcus dropped the ax. His hands were blistered and bleeding.

“It was just a door. It didn't go anywhere.” his dispair was evident. The gun was still on the floor. His eyes fell on it fully. As he bent over for the gun he caught himself watching the keyhole again. He forced himself to look away. His eyes closed he put the tip of the gun in his mouth.

It was cold and smooth. He could even taste the residue from when he had shot himself earlier. There was a little blood on the muzzle as well. He angle the pistol to the top of his skull. It was almost too big for his mouth. He gaged a little with it inside. He didn't know what to do with his tongue. It felt like it was in the way. He supposed that it didn't matter. So he felt the draw of the trigger. It was stiff. It took more effort than he had expected. The hammer fell. He heard it crack down against the pin. But nothing happened. Opening his eyes he saw the keyhole. It was glowing.

He took the gun out of his mouth. Placing it on the floor he went to the door and it opened. Inside he saw Mr. Blake's office.

“Your not really considering Marcus are you?” Thomas asked Mr. Blake. Thomas was sitting in a chair in front of Mr. Blake's desk. Mr. Blake leaned against the desk looking down his nose at Thomas.

“Of course not Thomas, but I have to make it appear that all candidates are considered and it always increases people's workloads when they think a promotion is on the line.” Mr. Blake said off-handedly.

“Mr. Blake, Thomas has done so much for this company. He deserves it so much more than I do.” Thomas was pleading with Mr. Blake.

“I'm sorry Thomas. This isn't up for discussion. You can pass on the promotion, but Marcus is best served where he is at now.” Mr. Blake turned his back to Thomas and went around the desk to his own seat. Laughing he looked at Thomas. “I've never had such a hard time convincing someone to make more money.”

The room changed it was the living room of the house. Abigail was sitting on the couch next to a man in silhouette. The man caressed her leg and she giggle with pleasure. Soon the man came into focus. It was Marcus. Moments later they were making love on the floor. Marcus remembered the night very well now that he saw it in the proper perspective.

Again the room faded out and changed. It was a waiting room. He instantly recognized it as the one from the earlier vision when he saw Abigail sitting there with Jenny.

“Marcus wouldn't understand.” Abigail said to Jenny there were tears in her eyes.

“He'd understand that you aren't ready to have a kid. You want to finish college first.” Jenny spoke comfortingly.

“No Jenny. I'm getting this abortion and Marcus must never know. He'd hate me forever if he knew. And I'm pretty sure he's the one. I just can't lose him. He can't know because I need him more than ever now.” They both were crying as the nurse came in the room and called Abigail's name. She went back and the vision faded.

Lastly a scene Marcus had not yet seen came into focus. It was the hallway and blood was everywhere. Splinters of wood littered the floor and on the ground was his body. The top of his skull was missing in its place was a pool of gray matter and skull fractures. Abigail was being held back by a paramedic. She was crying and Thomas was trying to comfort her. His face was stained with tears. They were both shaking with grief and Marcus couldn't take the visions anymore. He started towards the opening and fell into a brilliant light.

Opening his eyes he heard the hammer crack down onto the pin and felt fire in his mouth.

The End.

Sketch of the Week 13

Okay so I decided to play with one of my pictures yet again. This time I decided to try something a little more subtle. I hope you enjoy.

Original Photo by Matthew Jones

Original Photo Edit by Matthew Jones

A Door into the Past Pt. 10

There is a heavy weight on my soul as I draw near the ending of this story. It is hard to imagine a pleasant or happy ending. Now mind you that was never the intention of the story, I have always intended this story to end in a less than pleasant manner. But I almost feel like I know Marcus now. Perhaps you all don't know him as well as I do. Since you are limited to what I tell you and I probably do not relay enough information. But Marcus is just a normal man who has realized he doesn't know anything about the people in his life. That everything he knows is probably a lie. That is a heavy weight. I feel that weight as I write out his story. I hope that I transfer some of that emotion to you the reader, because if I don't. Well, then I might as well not be writing it.

Part 1.
Last Week.
Part 10.

Two Weeks Later

Marcus was sitting in front of the door. The house was so quite. He could hear himself think or maybe he was talking to himself. It didn't matter. He was on a forced vacation. He suspected it was better than being fired. Nonetheless he was probably too tired to go back anyway. He hadn't spoken to Abigail since she moved everything out a week ago. She said she was staying with her sister. And that if he wanted to talk all he had to do was call. Marcus however did not want to talk. He didn't want to think or feel. Things had gotten dark the sun had set and Marcus was no longer lost in the twilight. He was beyond hope.

Looking down at his hand Marcus realize how heavy the gun was. He had known before that they were so heavy. Everyone always used them like they were toys in the movies. But they were pieces of steel pieced together. Working flawlessly. He held the tip of the barrel against his temple. It was cold and a welcome distraction. When the steel was pressed against his head he forgot about everything. He only felt, alive.

Marcus' leg was shaking, a nervous habit he had never outgrown. His eyes were clenched shut but he still noticed the slight change in light as the keyhole lit up. The door did it every time Marcus was about to end the pain. Yet, it never failed Marcus would take the gun away form his head and lean forward.

“What terrible truth do you have in mind for me today?” looking through the keyhole Marcus saw a room filled with ornamentation. They were Christmas decorations. In fact the room was in Marcus' childhood home. The same room he decorated every year with his brother. But not this year. This was the year Marcus had decorated alone. Jeremy had died that year. Into the room walked Marcus' mother and father. They were talking. She was crying as she did that entire year.

“Jeremy was a good boy. I don't care what the police say.” Daniel, Marcus' father, was angry. It was anything new. Daniel had been angry long before the accident.

“But they said he had purposefully driven his car into that hillside. They said it was the only explanation.” Pearl, Marcus' mother, was weeping. She had always been emotional. Marcus remembered that every time he got in trouble it would end with him consoling his mother.

“No he'd never do that. He was always so happy...” Daniel didn't seem so certain, he anger abated somewhat, “wasn't he?”

Marcus walked into the room. He was fourteen at the time. He was always angry. At least that is how he felt since the accident. He knew his parents were keeping a secret, but they wouldn't tell him. The stopped talking when he walked in the room.

“Were you talking about the accident again?” Marcus was accusing. “Just put it behind you. He's dead and he's not coming back. It's Christmas for Christ sake.” Marcus left the room. He knew they were telling secrets, but he almost didn't care he was so angry. He just wanted his brother back.

Marcus fell off the chair. He was weeping yet again. The gun slipped from his fingers. His hands were too weak to hold onto it. As it fell through the air he had an instant of realization, then the gun went off. He felt a burning flash of heat spray across his face. He then saw blood running down the bridge of his nose. His eyes had spots and his ears were ringing. He almost felt nothing. It was surreal as if the world was blurring away slowly.

He watched the pool forming on the floor. A slow line of blood worked its way across the floorboards towards the door. He could hear it dripping on the other side. The door goes somewhere was his last thought as he fell into the puddle he had watched so intently.

When Marcus awoke he was sure he was dead, but the sticky wet mess on his face told him otherwise. As he felt his head he thought to find a gaping hole of shattered skull and moist gray matter, but instead he found a thin line of torn flesh. It was terribly tender, but the skull seemed much intact. Looking at the gun and the blood he wondered how he had survived, but he saw the stream and remembered.

“The door goes somewhere.” Marcus whispered as he stood up. He decided two things in that moment. He would find out what was behind that door. And Marcus was going to take a much needed shower.

Sketch of the Week 12

I just want to apologize that I did not post anything last week. I went camping and didn't realize I wouldn't have service. I was going to post a note saying there would be no post. Alright enjoy tonight's post.

Some alien from behind.

A Door into the Past Pt. 9

Greetings loyal readers. I am glad to see you have returned to my humble blog. I fear my language may appear strange in this story. I kept catching myself speaking in such a drab and old sounding voice(which in this situation of course means in the written sense and not the spoken) that I had to keep correcting myself. You see I watched some episodes of the Borgias today and that made quite a mark on my internal narration. I hope you don't mind. But please enjoy the now longest part of this increasingly large short story.

Part 1.

Last Week.

Part 9.

Marcus came to handcuffed to a chair. His head was heavy and throbbing from the blow. He looked around and saw people staring and pointing. For the moment he could not recognize them. One of them began to approach. Marcus finally recognized her as a police officer. She looked him in the eyes.

“You're a real lucky bastard. Your buddy Thomas is hurt pretty bad, but he refuses to press charges. I think you had better look yourself in the mirror and ask yourself what your problem is.” the officer began to take the cuffs off. “You're not going to assault me too are you? I wouldn't advise it.”

“No, I won't attack you, officer.” Marcus still felt like his head was on the verge of collapsing in on itself, but it was holding together for now at least. “Am I free to go?”

“We're gonna need a statement then you are free to get yourself home. Your wife is waiting over there.” the officer pointed at Abigail. Marcus looked at her, but he didn't want her to be here. He didn't want to see her. She looked very distraught. She was talking to Thomas who was being looked after by a paramedic. Marcus felt the rage boil up again. He looked away for what little good it would do.

“I think I would sit here awhile. I fear my head isn't well. The pain is quite intense.” Marcus did not lie, but his exaggeration seemed to be enough. The officer asked for his version of the story and then she left. Marcus was glad he wasn't going to jail, but he couldn't help but feel indignant that he was at Thomas' mercy.

Thomas always envied Marcus, Marcus knew this deep down. Ever since they met it had been Marcus who had everything. Thomas was in short term relationship after relationship. Thomas was never the top designer. Thomas was nothing without Marcus, yet somehow Thomas was stealing Marcus' world.

Abigail looked over and saw Marcus staring. She started walking over he looked away, but it was too late as her hand rested on his shoulder.

“Oh Marcus, what has gotten into you? Marcus look at me. You're scaring everyone who loves you.” her woulds were desperate and sad. Perhaps he could care for her, but never Thomas again.

“Thomas tries to steal everything. I have worked so hard. And Thomas thinks he just deserves it.” Marcus growled through his throbs of pain.

“You are mistaken Marcus. Thomas wants nothing, but good for you. He had tried to dissuade Mr. Blake from promoting him over you. He told me all about it. He didn't want you to know. But Mr. Blake said he wouldn't even consider you. You were too valuable as a full-time designer. Marcus listen to me. We all love you so much. Whatever is going on inside your head, just come back to us.” she said all the right things. Marcus couldn't believe them. He knew what he had seen and heard with his own eyes and ears. The door was showing him truth in a world of lies. These people didn't love him.

“I want you to move out, Abigale. Go live with Thomas. I know its what you both want. I saw the way he touched your thigh that time and the way you giggled with excitement. Just go. I'm through with you.” he saw the tears now. She was a convincing actress. Perhaps she should had gone to Hollywood. Abigail walked away in confusion. Marcus smiled to himself as she went to the paramedic. The paramedic nodded and followed her back over.

“Hello Marcus. I'm just gonna look at your eyes. I hope you don't mind. We just need to make sure you didn't sustain a head injury. They are quite common in these sort of situations.” Marcus was complicit though he did not like that Abigail still stood there. Her tears were breaking his resolve. “Good, good. Now let me check the wound. Tell me how badly does this hurt.” A sharp pain went through Marcus' entire skull as if he was struck yet again.

“Shit, that hurt like hell you fucking idiot.” Marcus about punched the man, but stopped himself.

“Good. You seem in perfect health for having a bronze statue blasted against your skull. There appears to be no fractures, but we will take you in and get your skull x-rayed, alright?” the man was entirely too cheerful. Marcus hated him already, but he grasped at any opportunity to get away from Abigail now.

“Just take me there now. And don't let her ride with us. I don't want to see her.” Marcus was placed on a stretcher and rolled away. It felt better to be away from Abigail, but his realities were fighting none the less. Marcus wondered to himself is Mr. Blake really didn't promote him because he was too valuable.

A Door into the Past Pt. 8

Yet another exciting installment if I may say so myself. This one was quite fun to write and is thus far the longest entry yet for this story. It however should read rather quickly since it is actually one of the more action packed posts. But without further delay please enjoy this new episode of suspense and disaster.

Part 1.
Last Week.
Part 8.

As Marcus completed the work he knew it was finally ready. He had changed the entire design. Where once was a sunrise it was now a sunset. He didn't even know why it had been a sunrise before. It was always meant to set. That is how he had seen it in the sky only a few days ago.

So, when Thomas came up the stairs Marcus was waiting for him.

“Here it is. Everything is in order it will be ready for production by the end of the day. Several days ahead of schedule I'd like to remind you.” Marcus was confident in the work, however as Thomas looked it over Marcus' smile faded.

“You've changed everything. Almost reversed the entire design. Are you sure this is still what you want? I'm not so certain of it. It seems almost gloomy.” Thomas was being shrewd. He was simply surprised by the changes. He'll come around this piece was genius.

“It will be fine Thomas. Believe me I know design. This will be a bigger hit than the other one would have. And we don't have time for both. I say we do this one.” with a slap on the back and a laugh Marcus almost convinced himself, “Have I ever led you astray?” He knew the answer he made this company. Without him it would have closed years ago. So, he knew his vote of confidence would also push his shoe through. It would be produced by the thousands.

“I... I guess you're right. I never had the grasp on design you had. Thanks. I'm glad you are excited about this. You're even getting me excited. This will be good.” Thomas walked away. Marcus knew the next step it was very like old times. A design meeting would be called. During the meeting everyone would ooh and aah Marcus' work and then the team would put it out for the fabrication team and soon we would have them ready to sell and the company would profit.

This time however things didn't go according to history. Everyone looked at the shoe and visibly their excitement would lessen. Instead of complementing him they averted their eyes. It was all wrong. It was even worse when Mr. Blake walked in the room.

“I heard that Marcus was revealing our next blockbuster.” he walked up to the designs and looked at them then looked at Marcus. He looked back at the design and finally back at Marcus.

“What do you think Mr. Blake? Can we take it to production?” Thomas said the words from the doorway he was only just coming into the meeting room. He had a portfolio under his arm. Marcus knew what was in the portfolio.

“Um, Thomas I don't think this shoe will go to production. It has a sort of melancholy about it.” and then the room filled with voices of agreement. Many were apologetic as they looked to Marcus, but it was their overall concert of disinterest in producing that shoe.

“I was afraid that was how you would feel. So, undenounced to Marcus I worked on some of his preliminary designs for that shoe and I think these are production ready.” Thomas took out the pieces he had slipshod together. There was no art to them. It was simply a recreation of Marcus' own work. Some slight color changes a thinning of the star-burst and an angle loosened here while one was tightened there. Overall it was identical however. Mr. Blake smiled as he looked at the piece.

“Oh Marcus this is brilliant I have no idea why you change it.” Mr. Blake gave Marcus the credit, but that didn't matter he may not have even heard. Marcus was outraged that Thomas would reveal work he thought unworthy and had specifically set aside.

“You whimpering shit. I have worked above you like a god and you think you can take my leavings and use them to your own glorification. You think to have my wife, my career, my work. Well take it all you filthy whore. Maybe another day or two deep in Mr. Blake's asshole will get you another promotion.” Marcus didn't know what he was doing, 'I'm getting this abortion...' and her laughter filled his ears as he punched Thomas' surprised face. Thomas fell to the floor blood spilling on the gray carpet of the conference room. He saw the silhouette touching his wife's thigh. She giggled with heavy lust filled breath. Marcus managed to kick Thomas in the ribs before the others started pulling him off. They held him tightly yelling for him to stop. He couldn't hear them, 'I'm getting this abortion...' Everything went black when one of them clubbed him over the head.

Sketch of the Week 11

Here is a collection of some sketches I've done and thought worthy of sharing.