“Chapter 1”

Wait what? Isn’t the book supposed to be over already? Why is it still going? Aren’t we supposed to get to know what’s behind the door? Why can’t I remember? 

How do I make it stop? I just want to rest, I don’t want to keep going, please make it stop. Why won’t the pages end? Where is the back cover?

Please, I beg you, just close the book. I want to rest. I can’t keep waking up anymore. I can’t keep doing this. 

The room is still dark when I wake up. 

Thanks a ton, it’s not too late to close the book.

My mother doesn’t wake me up. 

I check the time. 

The date is January 4th, 2030. The time is 6:07 am. 

I wonder how much longer it’ll be January 4th, 2030. I don’t think there’s any way to escape. Today should be a Monday, but it isn’t. 

Maybe there’s still time now…

Is it not too late?

I can still try.

There’s no harm in trying. 

That’s what I tell myself. I sit up, then rush down the stairs and out the door.

It’s dark outside, the streetlights are bright enough to light my way, but I still manage to trip over the uneven sidewalk several times. I run. The cold chews on my cheeks and ears, my skin blushes in the winter air. The clouds seem darker and heavier than ever, leaden with rain as if it would begin pouring at any second. 

Still, I run. And when I have no more energy, I walk. I shiver in the chilly air, my bare t-shirt isn’t enough. My legs quiver in the icy weather. Still, I move forward. 

Myo’s house is completely dark. The black curtains give the illusion of a waiting abyss behind the windows, as if it were waiting to swallow me whole. 

The dirt path is still covered in little blue blossoms. Pink, blue, and white. I finally remembered what they were called. Forget-me-nots.

“It’s me!” Echoes a distant voice inside my head.

The door is cast in shadow. I reach for my key—the place where I always keep it. For the first time, it isn’t there. What? I never take it off—without a key, I can’t open the door. I try it.

It’s unlocked.

I enter. Without bothering to turn on the lights, I move. Up the flight of stairs, left, down the hall, door on the left. There’s light squeezing through the bottom of the door. Her lights are on. All I have to do is open the door.

I brush my hand against the door, feeling old stickers and rough wood where the paint has peeled. Myo refused to let her parents change it out, because she liked the old door, she said. I recall that she used to complain to me about how her parents kept changing the color of the walls—she would wake up confused of her whereabouts and in strange episodes, wander the house in panic without recognizing it. 

I grasp the handle and twist it. It’s locked. Myo’s door is never locked. I’ve walked in on her reading fantasy, watching anime, doing homework, even changing. It has never been locked before. The lights are on. 

“Myo?” I call out hesitantly. I can feel her pause from the other side of the door. She stays silent, listening, waiting. I try again. “…Myo!”

She doesn’t answer. Everything is quiet. All I can hear is my own heavy breathing.

“Myo!” I try the doorknob in vain, “Please, Myo! Are you okay?” 

She still doesn’t answer. Why won’t she answer? Doesn’t she know how much she’s worrying me?

“Myo!” I cry, knocking. “Myo! Open the door! Please!”

She won’t open the door. Everything’s quiet. I have to do something. Anything to save her. I pound on the door, violently. I wait for a voice that never sounds. 

“Myo!” My face is heating up. I can feel something in me breaking. I really miss her. I wish she would just answer the door. She’s so close, just right there. It would be so easy to open the door. I can imagine breaking through the wood, picking the lock, climbing in through her window. But my fist is bruised from smashing it against her door. I keep trying in vain. I’m not trying hard enough. 

I don’t notice the tears until they hit my hand. 

“Myo…” I sob. My vision is blurry, but I keep trying the doorknob. I smash my shoulder against the door. It’s solid wood, unlike the surrounding doors. It won’t break. It doesn’t even shudder at my force. Even more tears flood into my eyes, trailing down my face, plipping onto the carpet floor. 

I wish I could tell you that I scratched at the door, peeled at it, smashed my shoulder against it until I was numb. I wish I could tell you that I hit that door until I couldn’t feel and I broke my fingernails trying to get to her. I wish I could tell you that I tried until I broke. 

But that didn’t happen.

I heard a quiet gasp, almost a sob. From the other side of the door. Then, soft wailing. 

“Myo?! Are you okay?!” I scream. “Open the door! Please! Myo…” 

But I already know she won’t. 

She’s already made up her mind.

It’s too late for me to save her because she’s already gone.