I joined the DeviantArt website eighteen-months ago, mainly lurking, looking for images that would fire my imagination and set me up to write another 75-word short story.To that end it had worked remarkably well, but sometimes a story spills over, refuses to stop, a bit like Mickey Mouse as the Sorcerer's Apprentice in the Disney classic Fantasia, and definitely doesn't fit inside 75-words.On those occasions I usually contact the creator of the inspiration, and ask them if I can write a story based on their work. I offer them the story in return for permission to use the image in my blog. They usually say yes, not always, but usually. It's a good community on DeviantArt.So, one such Deviant is TAGFoto who gave me permission to use a photograph he called "The Lottery" which I used to create a story called 'Day 259'.So I present to you the story, and the image which inspired it:
Day 259
Each day she slowly climbed the stairs. She knew every creak and squeak now. The weight of the guilt she carried pushed down through her tired legs and made each wooden step squeal in protest as it was forced to share her burden for a moment.She paused, eyes shut, breath held, just before she climbed the last flight to the upper landing, to the single door that waited for her. She trembled with fear, but she must press on, lest they come from her.In days past the door had been black, the digits scratched into the surface by broken and bloodied fingernails. On another day it had been an old fashioned farm door, the digits, slimy and stinking, the entrails of a pig, nailed crudely into shape, oozing faeces, staining the surface.She pushed on, eyes opening only when she knew there were no more steps. An office door. Half wood, half glass. It reminded her of those corny detective shows she had seen on TV as a child. She tried to smile, hold on to that happy thought, but the smile was gone in an instant as the memory of why this door was really here crashed in. She shuddered.The number 259 had been painted onto the whitened glass. It could have been just been normal paint but she knew it wasn’t. No paint has ever truly captured the tone of dried human blood, nor its smell. She placed her hand on the handle and began to turn. It gave a click and the door swung easily inwards. She stepped into the blackness and with a whimper waited for day 259 of her eternity in Hell to begin.
As ever, thank you for your time.John