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Doors

funny short story: doors



There are places in the universe where a person can go from one place to another directly, often avoiding an otherwise long and lengthy trip.

Think of your bedroom door; if it didn’t exist you’d have to go outside and climb through the window; and then spend a few hours convincing the police that you do, in fact, live there and it was the small matter of a very drunk architect and terminally thick builders that necessitated your unorthodox method of entry. Of course that sort of thing is mundane, and we are talking about interesting things, namely portals.

One of these portals, a whirling, swirling mix of mystical lights and feelings, sits high on a remote Tibetan mountain peak, not far from a monastery of monks who have the unfortunate condition of being born with the head of a yak. As you can imagine, one head shared amongst an entire monastery can be difficult enough; the fact that not all the bodies face the same way makes it virtually impossible for them to get anywhere at all. This means that they find it intensely difficult to find out where the portal leads to, which is just as well.

Our story now follows a young westerner, full of wanderlust and admiration for all things vaguely spiritual, who has climbed up the mountain in search of understanding. Being unable to read Tibetan, he has taken the wrong trail up the mountain, nearly fell three thousand feet, and finally come face to face with the portal.

“Cooooool” he says, and examines it closely. Wait till I get back and tell everyone about this.

It was a shame that that was the extent of his thinking, for the next moment he leaned forwards and toppled through the portal. If it had been the invisible one three yards to his right, Sam would have plunged three thousand feet to his death in front of some astonished bookcases, but as it wasn’t he instead found himself suddenly in a magical realm.

“Well,” said the caterpillar; “what are you staring at?”

Sam had enough wits to realise that “you” would not be a very welcome answer.

“It’s the snooker table,” he replied.

“That’s not nice,” the snooker table said in an injured voice.

This was even worse than a talking caterpillar, and so Sam asked the obvious question, although if he had thought about it he’d be hard pressed to say exactly who he wanted to answer it.

“Did I land on my head?”

The caterpillar looked at him closely.

“Which end’s your head?” it asked; “only it’s not so easy to tell.”

“That’s not nice,” Sam said, and the snooker table shrieked “He’s copying me!”

There are few things so discombobulating as being screamed at by a living snooker table, and so the hero of our story turned around and jumped into the swirling, multi-coloured portal that was behind him. And fell thirty thousand feet.

Sometimes, it’s just better to stay at home.

The author publishes short humor under the pen-name Severely Odd. His work is available on Amazon and via Smashwords.
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