Knock, knock, knock

November 23, 2009
By Anonymous

“Knock, knock, knock.” No one ever comes here. “Knock, knock, knock,” the door was yearning for my answer. Could I possibly be hallucinating?

“Knock, knock, knock.” Perhaps it’s my saving grace, a lottery check delivered to my door. On it my winnings consisting of a few zeroes (the more the merrier) with a one ever so kindly placed in front of it. God knows I could use another paycheque right about now. I spent the last one flirting with a slot machine. I even had to take out another loan last week.

“Knock, knock, knock.” Whoops, I’m still forgetting about the door; I guess I should stop neglecting it, it could change my life, or not. Life could be altered through the answering of this door. Time to stop daydreaming. Might as well answer the door, here goes nothing.

I opened the door: wow a butcher, did Halloween come early? This was really early since it just passed. Stereotypical butcher, knife in hand, bloody apron and uncompassionate look. He welcomed himself in. Perhaps I met him one time and told him he could pass by my house any time he wanted. I was just trying to be nice, I didn’t expect him to take my offer.

“Are you on your break?” I asked trying to rationalize the moment.

“You can say that,” he replied, “wait this is Jonathan Pyle’s house right?”

“Well it’s not much of a house, more apartment like if you ask me, but I’m the only one living here, so yes.”

“Well then I guess my break is over.”

The author's comments:
A Story not to exceed 262 words...

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