“What do you see on the other side of the door when you look through a keyhole?“
– a prompt for this week’s CW piece.
[Source: @DailyPrompt]
As a child, I was sheltered.
“It’s for your own good” – my parents used to say.
Or: “You don’t need to know that, yet.”
Back in the day, I did not have a computer, or a phone to look things up on. Books were the only things I could learn from. They were rationed based on my age, and what my parents though was adequate for my level of development.
“I have something to show you” – said Frank one day when we were playing at his house.
“What is it?”
“Come in here” – he said, pulling me into his room, making sure that no one was outside, and closed the door.
“Frank, what’s going on?”
“Shhh! Be quiet. I don’t want my mom to come barging in” – he replied, reaching under his mattress.
He sat on the floor, and I lowered myself to the ground next to him. In his hands he had a newspaper. No. A magazine. Or maybe a comic. I wasn’t sure, as it was rolled up in his hands.
“OK. Ready to have your mind blown?” – he asked and unfolded a Playboy magazine in front of my eyes.
“Gross” – was my first reaction.
“Have you never seen a naked lady before?” – he asked with judgement in his eyes.
“OF COURSE I have” – I said, trying to muster up as much confidence as I could.
“Good. I was worried you were going to run crying to your mommy” – he said, turning onto the next page.
As he browsed through the magazine he said to have gotten from his older brother, I wondered why all these women weren’t ashamed of being seen by random boys.
“What do you think of this one?” – he asked, pointing at the spread featuring a nurse sitting on a chair.
Her uniform was too tight.
So tight that the top button couldn’t hold in her full breasts.
One of her legs was lifted, and resting on a stool, revealing the secrets under her skirt.
“I like it” – I answered.
“You LIKE it?” – Frank asked, clearly offended by my answer.
“Dude, are you homo, or something?” – he asked, leaning away from me.
“No. I’m not” – I couldn’t get those words out fast enough.
“She’s hot. It’s just clear that you like her, so I didn’t want to salivate over your lady” – I answered, looking at him so as to see if it worked.
“Bros before hoes. I like it, man” – he said and high-fived me.
“So have you actually seen it when they do it?” – he asked after putting the Playboy away.
“Do what?” – I asked, in need of a clue.
“You know… It.” – he said, as he formed a circle with his left hand’s thumb and index finger, and then put his right index finger through it.
“Ahhh” – I said as if I knew what he was talking about.
“You have?” – he asked excitedly.
“No, actually, I haven’t” – I said, realizing that he wanted to know more.
“Neither have I, but my brother told me that he hears our parents do it all the time.”
“Hmmm…” – I uttered, wondering what “it” sounded like.
That night I was determined to be enlightened. I was hoping that I would hear the proper noises and finally know everything that my parents kept me from learning.
Unfortunately, that night my parents had an argument and my father went to a bar. I have no idea when he came back, but I must have been long asleep by then.
Staying up late every night, hoping to hear something extraordinary, was starting to take a toll on me. I was tired in the mornings.
“I’ve seen my parents do it last night” – said Frank one morning.
“How was it?” – I asked, hoping that he’d save me some sleepless nights.
“Why don’t you tell me when you finally see for yourself and become a man.”
That was all the motivation I needed.
Two nights later, I heard moans, panting and muted screams coming from my parents’ bedroom. I carefully tiptoed up to their door, and pressed my ears against the door. Pleasure sure sounded a lot like pain.
I looked through the keyhole and saw a huge ball of sheets on the bed. It was whirling around, back and forth. Limbs everywhere.
While I was trying to register every detail so that I could tell Frank the next day, I felt a breeze, and then a poke on the shoulder.
As I turned around slowly, a hand wrapped around my mouth.
“Shhhh” – the man in the mask mimed.
I tried to remain calm, but the butcher knife in his spare hand wasn’t filling me with optimism.
***
P.S. As always, you are more than welcome to use this prompt to inspire your post. If you decide to write something, be sure to pingback to this post, so that I can get an alert and check out your post. (A post on how to do pingbacks can be found here.) If pingbacks are not your thing, feel free to simply leave a link to your piece in the comment section below. The more, the merrier!
Stay golden,
***
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I really liked this story, but I didn’t particularly like the ending. I was reading it as a great ‘coming of age’ story, and it flowed really well. But then very suddenly the final paragraph threw me off completely, because it didn’t seem to flow with the rest, almost like it belonged to another story entirely. It certainly achieved the objective of making me (the reader) think though! What’s going on now? It just seemed a bit jarring and not really connected to the rest of the story, but the whole piece is beautifully written!
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Thank you so much, Stuart for your critique.
I can understand why you felt confused.
It was my intention to have the reader think he was going to discover his parents getting hot and heavy, but in fact he was to witness a murder. But then I kind of vired off. Thank you for holding me accountable and having me strive for more.
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Keyholes, Sex, and the Butcher Knife. That kid will never have a normal sex life.
Good story Goldie.
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“Keyholes, Sex and the Butcher Knife” that should have been the title.
Thanks for reading, Darnell.
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Great work on this, I really enjoyed it!
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Thanks so much, River!
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You’re welcome.
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Nooooo Goldie, what the hell happened in the end??? 😰
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They all die.
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Nooo 😭
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How would you end it?
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You want my honest opinion?
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Always.
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I would have killed everyone in front of the child, and made him suffer by making sure he witnesses everything happening in front of him.
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That was one of my ideas, too.
Thanks for sharing.
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I thought you will grasp it as more brutal, I am relieved you didn’t 😄💛
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Not at all.
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Nice twist at the end!
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Thank you!
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Heh. It probably says something about me, that I’m far more comfortable with a good murder, than… The rest.
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Isn’t it funny, though?
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Oh? Which part? The rest of the story, my own little foibles, or the fellow with the butcher knife? ‘Cause if the latter: heck yeah.
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I meant that some people are more comfortable with reading about murder than anything else.
But the latter, too.
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Yeah, I guess so. Why do you think that is?
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That’s a great question, but I don’t have an answer. Do you?
Maybe it’s because of the upbringing – sheltered and taboo. However, books aren’t always filtered as much.
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Hmm. It’s not something I’ve put much thought into. My family is of the morbid humor type, so every other joke is about death or maiming or something of the sort. I suppose it’s how we deal with things that ought (and probably would, if we were brought face to face with it in reality) to disturb us: we turn it into a joke. Heh. We literally laugh in the face of death.
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The Adams family.
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😈😜
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YIKES! You have been watching too many police procedural TV shows!
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Just maybe.
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The saying, “Curiosity killed the cat”, is accurate in this case. I love the twist. It wasn’t what I was expecting, though. I was expecting a happy ending, but then, it’s Goldie we’re talking about. Your twists are always too shocking (and sad 😔).
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The title was a bit of a spoiler 😉
I do have morbid tendencies. It’s true.
Thanks for reading, Obi.
I can’t remember if you’re Catholic, or Orthodox?
Have a Happy Easter (either on Sunday, or a week from then).
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Thanks, Goldie! Happy Easter to you, too! 😊
I (occasionally) attend a Pentecostal church.
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I see. Why occasionally?
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It’s complicated. I rarely attend church because of the doctrines most churches here have. Some of which conflict with the principles I’ve read in the Bible. So to avoid confusion and maintain my sanity while I’m at it, I avoid the churches around my place. I’m still looking for a good church. One that doesn’t tell me to avoid my Muslim friends because they’re all going to hell. So far, my search has proved futile, but I’m not one to give up easily. I’ll keep looking till I find it.
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I can understand that. For the longest time I was going to a specific church because I had to. My faith was very juvenile. Then, I would go to a church that was the closest to me. Sometimes it was good, sometimes not so much. I had to care about my own faith, which wasn’t my priority. After a while, I finally realized that I wanted to find a place that worked for ME. Not because I’m selective, but because I wanted a place to feel “at home”. And I did. It filled me with so much happiness. It boosted my faith. Unfortunately, not too long after that, I had to move. The church I attend now is alright. Not bad, but nothing special, either. But for now, I don’t mind it. I’m in a good and strong place spiritually. I hope you find that, too.
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Thank you, Goldie. From your experience, I can tell that you really understand how I feel. I’m looking for a church I can call my family. One that will help me grow spiritually. And I hope that, like you, I find that place.
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Good luck!
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I’m really amazed by this piece! It keeps focused till the last sentence!
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Thanks, Mimi!
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You always manage to put a little twist at the end. Love how you end up leaving the readers curious. 👌🏻
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Thank you!
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You’re welcome 🙂
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