Fate

I stand in front of two doors; they are all I know.

The one to my left is painted pink- a bright, rosy hue that hurts my eyes to peer at for too long. The knob is worn and withered, oils from hands before me have since tarnished its color. There is a chip in the bottom right corner where it connects to the frame that holds it.

I shift my eyes a few inches to the right and am met with the image of the other door. It is a dark, navy blue. This, too, I am unable to stare at for longer than mere seconds- the color tempting me to sink to my knees. Its knob is not nearly as worn as that of the pink door, in fact, it seems to be perfectly new in condition. There are no chips or frays, it is untouched and pristine.

They are on complete opposite ends of one scale, I stand within the center, awaiting one to surpass the other.

I weigh them in my mind- neither being particularly special nor did either stand out. The compulsive lack of an answer plagues me dreadfully, I suppress the urge to groan out in frustration.

I take a step forward, just one, and extend my hand to the door on the left- the pink one. I place my palm against the bright color, it seems to dull under my embrace. I run the tips of my fingers across the ridges and divots of the hard wood before trailing down to the knob; it is warm to the touch. It feels as though someone else has used it recently, yet I am the only one in the small, enclosed room.

I shift to the door on the right- the dark blue one. I mirror my actions from the moments prior and prod the material- it feels like metal. The dark-blue seems to deepen incomprehensibly before my eyes as I move to graze the knob; it is ice-cold. I pull my hand away instinctively, the bitter temperature feeling like a zap of electricity against my skin.

There is a sudden shift in the room: it is time.

Quickly, I run through it all: the colors, the sizes, the textures, the atmospheres- everything. On one hand, the dark blue door is new, uncharted territory. If it is the ocean, then I am a sailor who refuses to remain complicit and leave what lies ahead unknown. However, the pink door is worn, it is trusted. Many before me have stood where I am and confidently chosen it, who am I to deny their intelligence for choosing the path of familiarity?

I don't know my purpose for being in the position I am, some twisted turn of events that lead me here. For all I can recall, my life began the moment I laid eyes on the doors; they are all I know.

I rack my mind, begging my consciousness for anything it is willing to give. I can't even recall my name, my age, my height, my gender. I don't even know what I look like. Everything is a blur.

Except for the doors; they are all I know.

I am at a crossroads. I'm aware if I am to choose one, then the lingering 'what if?' will never escape my psyche, no matter what awaits. I cannot satisfy my urges regardless if the door I pick is the correct one. Even if I am to meet God Himself, or the mighty Cerberus at the gates of the Underworld- it will all be for naught.

This is a cruel game that I no longer wish to play. Hundreds of thoughts flow through my mind at once, intersecting and confusing me, I makes me wonder about all those that have come before me. The pink door, for it is deeply weathered, has had to have seen thousands of people, I cannot imagine why the knob would be such a color if that were not that case. Just how many have had to make the same choice as I? Why have none chosen the blue door?

Did they have prior knowledge that I lack? Did they assume the same as I- the appearance of the pink door radiating of sense of normality? How many times has the blue door been forced to watch as others choose its counterpart.

I feel an overwhelming sense of sadness for the blue door. It's not at fault for its appearance. Maybe if I am to choose the blue door, I can one day return and prove to all that will follow: the blue door is not a bad door.

The air in the room becomes thick and heavy. My chest tightens at the knowledge of what is to come.

I know what I must do.

I take a deep breath, for if I am to have made the wrong choice, let it be known that I did so of my own accord. I extend my palm outwards, grasping the right knob, the knob of the unknown. I twist my wrist and push it open. The conclusive nature of my fate following.

The room stills momentarily. I think for a brief second that, perhaps, I have done what I was supposed to- I made the right choice. The blue door is the good door.

The moment does not last long.

I fall to my knees; my mind blanks. Visions and colliding escapades of every color known to man dash behind my eyes. I see nothing and yet everything, all at once. The entire expanse of the universe becomes visible to my weak, mortal perception.

The galaxies intertwine with one another, solar systems mingling and embracing in an array of hues. They smile, they laugh, they cry. Stars twinkle all around, thousand upon thousands- they surround me in an explosion of warmth.

I am swathed in their light before descending into the abyss.

My mind blanks as I...

I stand in front of two doors; they are all I know.