I often begin stories by recording dreams I've had. Today's inspiration came from a dream Jeremiah (the husband) had. "We went to a certain room in a specific hotel," he said. "The closet was lined with tile. You ran you ran your finger along the tiles and loved them." We paused for a moment to reflect on this. "Love springs the gates of Hell right open. Isn't that great? It's the second time I've watched you do it."
While driving Jeremiah to work at 5:45 this morning, a story began to take shape in my mind. I've been feeling super un-creative lately, like my imagination is broken. So I knew I had to write this down.
As if to confirm, I discovered Jeremiah's Facebook status after completing my shitty first draft:
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Ain't that the darndest?
Without further adieu, today's shitty first draft:
David
By Kay L. Steele
“The Gates of Hell open as easy as that,” the tiny red-haired girl explained. Against her fair skin, the rose in her cheeks glowed. Her hair hung down to the middle of her back in an intricate fishbone braid; bangs framed and accentuated slightly too large, too green eyes.
Capitol Lake was surrounded by a trail which was heavily trafficked by joggers, dog walkers, Greeners and government workers on lunch. In the surrounding grass, pesticide lush and chemical green, was overrun with picnicking lovers and frolicking toddlers.
The tiny red-haired girl sat cross-legged under an umbrella in the center of the grass. Apparently an invisible bubble three yards in diameter kept the toddlers and lovers from encroaching. For a moment, the sight of the tiny isolated girl, under an umbrella on the hottest day on record - the one day rain was an impossibility in Olympia - struck Snow as peculiar. So much so, that she had to pause, turn away from the scene, inhale deeply, the turn back around to make sure the girl was still there.
She was.
Of course she’s still there, Snow conceded.
Of course I’m not dreaming.
That would be too easy.
Snow strode purposefully from the street to the tiny red-head, waving her way between oblivious tank-kids and making every effort to avoid catching any glimpses of kissing picnickers. Not that kissing offended her; but after last night she’d rather pretend sex didn’t exist. Kissing was a reminder she didn’t need.
“Hi there,” Snow said as she approached the tiny girl and crouched down to meet her height. “I’m looking for…” the girl’s glare made Snow pause. She realized she’d been using her adorable-puppies-and-fat-babies voice. She cleared her throat before finishing her sentence, trying not to overcompensate. “…For The Gatekeeper.” Overcompensate was an understatement. She said “The Gatekeeper” as though she were the the Crypt Keeper introducing a new episode. The Tiny girl rolled her slightly too large, too green eyes.
“I am a gate keeper. I’m hardly the gate keeper, though. As though there were only one gate. One key. Have they sent me a child?”
“Well, I do feel like a child still,” Snow stammered. “But I’m 25, so I think technically I’m an adult. Yes. I’m certain that I’m an adult now. I mean, technically 18 is the age-marker for adulthood, right? I’m well past that. And I’ve been… ”
“OK, yeah. I get it. 25 or 72, you all look the same to me. If your infants weren’t so small, I’d never tell them apart from you elderly. They’re just as bald and toothless.
“I sense, though, a wealth of life within you. Often I’ve heard your people describe this wealth as wisdom. That’s not what I mean though. Though you’ve lived such a short period, you exude the abundance of life I expect from being ten times your physical age.
“Oh well. What gate do you seek? Perhaps I’m the gatekeeper. Perhaps I’m some other gatekeeper.”
“ How old are you?” Snow asked. “You look about six. Aren’t you a bit young to be the keeper of any gates? Let alone to be out without any adult supervision to speak of.”
“Not that I need to explain myself to you, but I’ve been alive longer than this pathetic country has been a figment in the imaginations of the Norse who supposedly “discovered” this place. Now. If you’re done acting stupid. Would you like to intelligently answer my question? If, that is, intelligence is something you possess.”
Snow couldn’t remember what she’d come to the tiny red-head for. She was staring at her too-big, too-blue eyes, convinced they were too-green just a moment ago. There was rage in those eyes. And love. Snow was certain she could spend her whole life in rage and in love - experiencing no other emotion - and not accumulate the depths she saw in those too-blue eyes.
“Sorry,” the tiny girl said. She blinked her eyes. Snow’s thoughts, which she hadn’t realized were fogged, suddenly cleared.
“Weren’t your eyes green before?”
“Yes. Clearly you’re not ready to answer my question. Would you like some tea? Oh, wait. You probably don’t know how to answer that. Here. Let me pour you some tea. Sit down. Get comfortable. For I already know your answer. Once you get around to speaking it, we’ll have much to discuss.”
Snow sat. The umbrella, which she hadn’t noticed was so large, draped them both in purple-hughed shadow. “May I ask your name?”
“It is irrelevant until you’ve answered my question.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Really. I’ve meant to answer. I forgot for a moment why I came, you see. So answering has been difficult. It’s like there’s a barrier between my brain and mouth. I think the answer in my brain, but before I can speak it, the though is directed elsewhere and a new thought comes out.”
“I see. I should have known. All new thoughts start as questions. It’s been quite obvious. Look into my eyes.” She blinked, and Snow’s eyes were momentarily immobilized as the too-blue seemed to spark and become too-purple. Unable to blink or look away, Snow tried not to panic. After only a moment, though, the girl blinked again. Her eyes melted back to blue and their hold on Snow’s released.
“I seek the Gates of Hell,” Snow blurted out. “Oh thank God.”
“Thank me, if you must thank anyone. I don’t know who put that curse into your mind.”
“Curse?”
“The barrier effect you described. I don’t know who did it. But someone you encountered on your way here was very powerful and very much didn’t want you to receive the answer I have for you.
“As for the key to the Gates of Hell. The key is to find them, and to love them. Have you finished your tea? Pitty.” She took the tea and dumped it on the grass. She sat the mugs with the kettle and when Snow glanced back, they were gone. “Happy travels. Safe journey. All that.”
“Wait, what? No. There must be more to it than that. I was told you’d be giving me the key. I can’t travel happy or safe if you don’t give me the key. Please!”
“Young one, I’ve given you the key. I do not give it lightly. Now shoo.”
“I don’t know what to do with the key. Wait! How do I find and love them?’
“Fuck. Fine.” She closed her eyes, breathed deep. A spark caught her irises and they turned gold. “Good damn question. You are more intelligent than you look. I should have left that barrier in tact. You realize this is a death sentence? And once you have both the key and the knowledge to use it, you will be hunted. Death will find you long before you touch the gates you seek. Do you still want your answer?”
“Yes.”
“In a certain room in a specific hotel, there is a closet. The closet is lined with tile. When you find it, run a finger in the grooved grout around the tiles, while loving them. The gates will swing wide open.”
“Are you going to tell me which hotel?”
“I’m afraid I’m only the keyholder. My twin knows the location. Isn’t that a unique plot twist? You will have to find him. Or get incredibly lucky. And luck is hardly dependable and often devious. I don’t recommend that rout. And before you ask, I don’t know where my brother is. You’ll have to ask the wolf.”
“You’ve given me more questions than answers. Please. Who is the wolf? Where do I find him? Does your brother have a name? ”
The tiny red-headed girl stood.
“You didn’t tell me your name. Who should I say sent me?”
“I am David. And I must now be going. Please. No more questions. The Gates of Hell open as easy as that. You’d better go as well. Remember, you’re being hunted.” With that, David the tiny girl, eyes once again too green, closed her umbrella and ceased to be.
Thunder rumbled and rain dumped on the hottest day in recorded history - the only day rain was an impossibility in Olympia.
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