Mysterious Doors
“Hmm, that was odd.” Thought Friedre, staring at the anonymous white-painted door in front of her. She was sure she had closed it moments ago. But now, she turned back after making tea, and it was open again.
She placed her tea down on the table behind her and gingerly tiptoed towards the door and closed it again, a puzzled look on her face despite the satisfying click it made as she did.
She faced the table to pick up her tea and turned around.
It was open again.
Now more annoyed than intrigued, she again placed her tea on the patient table and padded towards the door. She pushed it shut with a solid thud and walked backwards, keeping an eye on that rules-breaking door.
One step from the table with her comforting tea, the door swung open wildly, clattering against the frame.
She ran at it, shutting it with a well-placed shoulder barge and jumped back. It swung open again, narrowly missing her shoulder.
She pushed it again, and it swung open just as quickly.
This merry dance repeated for several rounds before she fell to the floor, mentally and physically exhausted, staring at the aggravating panel of wood.
This situation needed a new strategy. She crawled back to the table and sipped at her tea, her back passive-aggressively to the door. She could feel it taunting her.
She placed her empty teacup on the ground, moved to the other side of the small table and slid it across to the wall. She then ran at the door, pushing the table towards it as fast as her legs could carry her, forcing the door closed with the weight of the table.
“That’ll tell it.” She thought, walking back across the room with a satisfied swagger, dusting down her hands.
That was when a door-propelled table smashed into the back of her legs, sending her metres into the air and crashing down onto her backside.
She sighed with frustration and lay back on the cool floor, feeling a chilly breeze wafting through the open door frame. She stared at the ceiling and decided a short nap would help concoct a solution.
She awoke with a start and sat bolt upright, her eyes staring widely at the yawning portal. The idea hit her in a flash.
She rummaged in a bag in the corner of the room and found what she was looking for.
Whistling casually, she skipped and danced towards the door like she was pleased to see it. What a remarkable ruse, she thought.
“My, what a fine door you are!” She declared to the door. It met her gaze plankly.
“Such fine timbers, such skilful paintwork, such shiny fittings.”
Did she detect a wobble in the hinge there?
Seizing her opportunity, she plunged onto the door with her rusty trusty saw. Chopping and churning it into a hundred shreds of wooden pieces until nothing was left.
She emerged from the sawdust haze, coughing and spitting, her hands raw and her saw blunt.
“That’ll tell it.” She said.
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