I love to read. A lot.
Partly because of this, I have wanted to write for a long, long time. However, I havn't ever worked up the nerve to actually sit down and write something. The few times that I have started, ended up with me getting bored five sentences in. Well...I've finally done it. I wrote a really short story about something that happened to me. You could say I was inspired to write this.
Anyway, here it is in its raw, unedited form. Please, PLEASE, be as critical as you want. I hope to write more seriously in the future and would like to learn from this brief foray into the world of literature.
Zogby and the Door
Zogby was a young man in the days of yore. He stood six feet tall, had brown hair, and brown eyes. As a matter of fact, he was completely unremarkable. The only thing that stood out about him was his lack of a tan. Zogby almost never went outside.
It was a dark day when the Closed Door began its formidable assault on Zogby. It had been raining since ten in the morning and clouds covered the sky. The grass was a dirty brown and the trees had long since lost all of their leaves. He was driving his old battered green car down the highway. Having just finished dropping off his siblings and parents, he had no worries. In fact, Zogby was quite cheerful.
Pulling up to the Sogtrall Mansion, Zogby got out of his car. Sauntering over to the door he whistled a happy tune. Despite the slight drizzle, and the limp flowers by the walk, he was set. In less than three minutes he would be inside, taking a shower. The water would be hot, and the towels would be warm. This was the way he always prepared for his job. In fact, Zogby began work in less than thirty minutes. He needed to shower, change, and shave all within that time.
Reaching in to his coat pocket he pulled out his keys. Zogby suddenly remembered a conversation he had had with his mother less than half an hour ago.
“Zogby?” his mother had said.
“Yes amazing mother?” he replied.
“Your brother Flork needs your key to the house.” She explained, “He will be back home before you are, so he can unlock for you.”
“Certainly.” reaching into his pocket he pulled out the key.
“Flork!!!” he shouted, “Come get this key!”
Flork thundered down the steps, grabbed it, and left. He was not seen by Zogby again until much later.
He looked up from his memories and stared at the door.
The door smugly grinned at Zogby. “You sir, forgot your key.” it said.
“I didn’t forget it! Fate conspired against me!”
“I do not make allowances for fate. You must provide a key, or leave.” The door’s tone brooked no resistance.
With a frown that caused the flowers by the walk to droop even further, Zogby considered his plight. He decided to call his mother. Using an amazing invention that he himself had made, the Phell Cone, he dialed her.
‘Ring, Ring!!!!’
‘Ring, Ring!!!!’
‘Ring, Ri…’
“Hello?”
“Mother?” said Zogby with a heavy heart
“Yes dear?”
“I have no key”
“Oh. Well dear,” she began, “you know I can’t help you.”
“but, I have to work in just fiftee…” Zogby started to say
Interupting, his mother replied, “I’m sorry! There’s nothing I can do. Maybe you could go buy a new outfit to work in.” With that, she hung up the Phell Cone.
“ORKLLLAHAYYYWWWRRRRRRRLLLLLL!!!!” Zogby shouted to the moon.
Zogby had less then twenty minutes left to get to work. He must find a way to get in, or admit defeat. As it was not in his nature to allow a mere door to conquer him, he decided to look around. First, he examined the door. It was a light green with beige siding. The doorknob was intricately wrought with steel, and had a vein of gold running through it. Unfortunately, the door noticed what Zogby was up to and threatened him.
“Stay away from my knob, or I’ll never open for you again, key or no key.”
Moaning in distress, Zogby prowled around Sogtrall. While the door’s personality was such that it allowed no trespassing, the windows were slightly more transparent. Reaching out to touch one, Zogby’s hand was blocked by a mesh of hard wire.
“Curses!” he muttered. “How can I remove this fiendish screen?”
He slowly tossed what keys he did have from one hand to the other.
Zogby thought furiously, “I need something small enough to move the locks on this screen. However, I don’t want to rip the screen.”
He stopped fiddling with his keys. Then, he realized that one of them was small enough to fit through the screen. Slowly working the key into the screen, he pried the locks open. Then, he pulled the screen off.
All that was blocking his entrance to the house now was a window. Luckily, this particular one had been left unlocked. Pushing with all his might, he slowly raised the window. It creaked and groaned as it resisted his force, but the hideous window slowly gave way. Dust flew around Zogby as he gained entrance to his house.
He jumped up, and clambered into the open window. It was just in time too, because he only had fifteen minutes left to get to work. Suddenly, the cactus that was left to guard the windowsill accosted him.
“What are you doing?!” he demanded.
“This is my house Cactus. Let me by.” Zogby tried to explain, worming through the window.
“You are a stranger, prepare to fight!”
ZZZZZKKKKKLAPOW!
Zogby blinked. His hair was in disarray and he could only imagine the state his clothes where in. Looking around he saw that he was in a huge room. The walls seemed to stretch forever in both directions, and he could only barely see the ceiling. The floor was covered with sand, and various small shrubs dotted the land. There was a bright light flooding the room, he couldn’t see where it came from, but it seemed to come from everywhere at once. Far in the distance, there was what looked to be a cactus.
Completely confused, Zogby walked towards the distant cacti. Suddenly a screeching howl assaulted his ears. Startled, Zogby looked around to see what had caused it. Glancing back towards where he had been heading, he was frightened to realize that it was the cactus who had howled. In fact, the cactus was rushing towards him at an alarming rate, screeching at the top of its voice. Zogby now remembered that just last year his parents had bought the upgrade to their guard cactus that allowed the cactus to attack intruders. Zogby was in for the fight of his life.
As the cactus rushed ever closer, Zogby looked around franticly for a weapon. He snatched a largish stick up off the ground, and brandished it fiercely. The cactus was upon him! They whirled around in a mad dance of death, hitting and thwaking one another. The Cactus, armed only with his spines had managed to land a heavy blow on Zogby’s hand. As blood oozed out, the Cactus howled in glee. He rushed in for the death blow. He swung his arm back for a massive swipe at Zogby’s head. As he did so, the Cactus’ body was exposed to Zogby. Taking advantage of the moment, he dashed in and shoved his stick into the Cactus so hard, that it went entirely through him. The Cactus’ arm went limp before he could deliver the fatal blow. Moaning lowly, he sunk to the ground.
WOPALKKKKZZZZ!
Zogby was back in the window. The cactus was nowhere to be seen. Triumphantly, he finished entering the house. He was in the kitchen. The table still had food from the day’s meal set out on it, there were toys strewn across the floor, and the dog was roaming the house shedding hair everywhere. Despite the disarray, Zogby had no time to clean anything. He only had ten minutes left to get to work. Rushing up the stairs, two at a time, he dashed into his room, and changed in record time. Zogby ran back down the stairs, and out into the cold night air, locking the door behind him.
Hurrying down the path in front of the house, Zogby noticed that it wasn’t quite so overcast anymore. The flowers by the walk seemed to be perking up, and the door wasn’t quite so grouchy. Finally reaching his car, Zogby opened the door, got in, and left.
Five minutes later . . . the car’s tire went flat.
End.
