Thursday, August 19, 2010

Thursday Writing Assignment




Prompt #2.) This one time I was sleeping and…
(inspired by Jennifer W. from
Momma Made It Look Easy).


 In my teenage years... thirteen to eighteen years old, we lived in a very big, one story, ranch style house in Northern California.

After moving from another state and temporarily renting a house for a few months, my parents bought this huge house in the same town with one acre on a hill. There were gorgeous views of the river and it backed up to thousands of acres of hills. 


Our kitchen was in the very center of the house and you could get to it through four, yes four doors...one from the entryway, one from the game room, one from the den and one from the laundry room.

As you walked into the front door and turned left into the hall through the huge entryway, my bedroom was the first one you came to on the left.

For some reason, in the middle of the night, every single night... I got thirsty. It was a nightly ritual for me to get up and walk quickly to the kitchen for a drink of water. I didn't like the dark hall so I wanted to get it over with.  I always went through the laundry room. (because it was less scary than walking past the front door) The laundry room was down the hall to the left, past my brother's room...then turn right down a short hall... and the door to it was across from my parents room. The laundry room had two doors, one from the hall and one from the kitchen which were both pocket doors. They were never closed. Ever.

This one time when I was sleeping...and I woke up thirsty, as per usual, I got up and like a zombie on a mission, I made my way down the hall, turned right and then through the...through the...BLAM! I ran right into something solid...I fell backwards slamming into my parents door...the noise made my dad jump up out of his bed and open their door. I rolled over, dazed and confused looking up at him trying to focus my eyes in the dark. Ouch.

"What happened?" he asked me. "I don't know..." I mumbled. He turned on the hall light and my little brother Fish came stumbling out of his room and down the hall where I was lying prostrate on the floor and asked, "What happened, Dork?"... "I don't know Dweeb!"...

The light revealed that the stinkin' pocket door was slid shut. What the heck? Who would do such a thing? Call the police!

Weeeeell...my dad was only home on the weekends because he traveled for his job. It was Sunday night and he had to leave in the morning. He'd shut the pocket door so the dryer wouldn't wake anyone up while he did some laundry he'd forgotten and needed for the next day. Great.

My skinny, boyish frame had hit that closed pocket door with the full force of a forward motion teenage girl on a mission to quench her midnight thirst.

I ended up with a few bruises, a swollen nose, and a slight black eye. I looked like I had been in a fight.

I now have a fear of pocket doors.

I never get thirsty in the middle of the night anymore.

My dad never closed that door...ever, ever again.

Now that my dad lives with me, we exchange a knowing glance when he is doing his laundry. He makes sure I know. He never does his laundry in the middle of the night.

There are NO pocket doors in my house.

From here on I shall be known as Pocket Door Zombie.

The End. (...as long as no one shuts any hotel bathroom pocket doors).

3 comments:

  1. Wow. That is kind of scary. I hate it when something changes up the normal routine.

    Thanks for stopping by.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Awwww you poor thing that is horrible! I can imagine that hurting soooo bad.

    ReplyDelete
  3. ouch. You must have looked great. Are you sure it wasn't your brother who shut that door?

    ReplyDelete

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