The Jays Wrote:I found myself in a round room, surrounded by seven doors, each neighbored with a small table with a different flower in a small vase on top. The walls contained no other indication as to where I was, and neither did the doors, which were numbered 1 through 7. It seemed as though each door would just open into a hotel room, yet there was no ice machine nearby. The floor and room smelled clean, but was probably just vacuumed and sprayed with New Car Scent air freshner, to give it that stench of every commercial building you've ever been to. Along the edge of the ceiling trailed a circle of florescent lights, embedded in the perimeter, dripping soft light onto the light maroon houndstooth wallpaper which covered much of the surface area. The carpet was also red, a Mondrian-esque landscape of cubes, but done in a hideous, warm, and playful way, allowing for one to play a large game of Tic Tac Toe. I sat on the floor quickly coming to realize that I needed to leave this room, and so I would have to choose a door to try to open.
The tables each allowed for a vase with a different flower in each.
Door 1's had a daffodil sitting in its vase.
Door 2's held a Morning Glory vine.
Door 3's held a twig of Wysteria.
Door 4's a Rose.
Door 5's an Easter Lily.
Door 6's held an Orchid.
Door 7's held a Dandelion.
I opened Door 2 first.
The door slammed behind me with great force. I turned around to make sure it had not locked, but the door faded away, into a tall chain link fence, covered by morning glories, newly blossomed. Overhead, the sun came in at a high angle, yet not quite noon. The heat evaporated any dew that might have have clung to the green vines, its spade shaped leaves, its lavender, blue, and white flowers.
The fence obscured a two story house that sat on a slight elevated piece of land at the end of a narrow, suburban street. Densely packed cottages converted into two story colonials, as noted by the enclosed porches which stood as evidence of their architectural past, fronted the sides of the block. The house at the end, however, rotted away what remained of its Victorian era heritage. Its eave brackets hung on for dear life, its scalloping had all washed away, its turreted corners seemed rounder than its polygonal nature provided, and its wooden siding had long lost any paint, now clinging to the exterior, silvering over what must have been over a century. Looking upon the house I felt a pit form in my stomach for my heart to fall into; what a sorrowful sight, I thought, such a spectacular, stylish specimen abandoned and neglected by owners long gone, left to fend for itself against the weather.
Down the street, behind me, I could hear a whistling screech, coming near me, then going away, in a back and forth kind of manner. I noticed it, but paid little attention as my eyes stayed transfixed on the near dead house, which gave a gentle gasp of life upon visual inspection. An open double-hung window allowed the breeze to come inside and dance with the faded draped curtains, and screened glimpses of a figure's silhouette moving about the inside of the parlor. The whistling screech behind me seemed to come nearer, prompting me to turn around.
THWACK!
My nose.
I doubled over and clutched my face, as my vision went briefly white. I gathered myself, and focused on the source of the violence. A black and green NERF turbo whistling football waddled near my feet, rolling to a stop. Several yards in front of me, two children stood, no more older than 12. The boy closest to me motioned for the ball, so I bent down and grasped it, but chose instead to show off, and hurl it towards the farthest boy. I launched it high into the sky, as it whistled like a kettle as it gained altitude, and it shook telephone wires that it brushed against in it travel, then fell like a missile to its target and into the boy's hands. He smiled, and in acknowledgment and gratitude, the boy threw the ball back to me in a similar fashion, but it missed the target, and hit the front door of the old house, ricocheted off the outside parlor wall, and as the front door became ajar, it opened and welcomed the rolling oval ball as it waddled inside.
The two boys, almost instinctively, ran towards the lost ball, ran past me, and scaled the high flowered fence, as the morning glories crumpled and collapsed onto the pavement. The boys fell into an unwelcoming yard covered in the dense remains of unkempt brush and dead weeds; the result of years and years of landscaper's contempt. They managed to follow some semblance of a path to the front door, as I stood and watched as my fingers wrapped around the fence where openings in the vines offered a framed view of the scene inside the property. The two boys peered into the door, and slowly crept into the house. My gaze switched back to the parlor window, where I first saw the figure. It was no longer present.
Suddenly, the boy, who I had failed to throw to, burst through the front doorway, stumbling through the brush, and towards the fence, which he scaled like a Marine, yelling "I just wanted the ball!"
"Where is he?" I screamed. "What happened?"
"That old bitch, she grabbed him! That fucking cunt! I'm getting my dad!"
I quickly scaled the high flowered fence, and landed amongst the dense remains of unkempt brush and dead weeds. I managed to find some semblance of a path to the front door, as the other boy ran home. I climbed the seven steps to the top of the porch, and hesitantly, reluctantly, entered the house.
For as colorful as the morning glories had been, the interior of this house was as drab, as gray, as lifeless and lacking vigor.
"Hello!" No answer.
"Where are you?" No answer.
I explored the house. From the front door, I saw a switchback staircase at the end of the hall, with an opening on either side; one to the parlor, and one to the dining room.
"Hello!" No answer.
"Where are you?"
I moved slowly, lacking any knowledge of this house, this neighborhood, this boy, or even why I was doing this. I peered into the parlor, which lacked any furnishings, and then the dining room, which contained a long mahogany table varnished with years of dust, accompanied by a lone upholstered dining room chair, equally dusted. I moved forward to the stairs.
"Are you there?" I yelled as I reached the foot of the stairs.
The oval black and green ball rolled down the steps I could not see, then rolled down the ones before me, waddled near my feet, rolling to a stop.
![[Image: firestarter2.jpg]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/0803/deadlaughter/firestarter2.jpg)