Surfing Twitter the other day and came across a competition to win a copy of new horror anthology City of Hell. All you had to do was write a 100 word flash piece with the theme of a door. For some reason my mind thought of Schrödinger's cat and evolved into the below. (Pleased to say it was a winning entry!).
I walked out on her two years ago. I walked out as she lay there bleeding in that windowless room. The blood pooling around her as she clutched the butcher’s knife driven into her abdomen.
I walked out across the sticky carpet whilst she stared imploringly at me, desperate to understand why; her life slowly ebbing away.
I walked out on her and locked the door. It was the only way to keep her alive.
Every day since I stand and stare at that door, pausing as I go to open it, then turn away.
Sometimes I hear her crying.