Bryant 1

Tashira Bryant

Ms. Robinson

Creative Writing

22 March 2021

The Door

I was born in Russia, however, I don’t really identify as Russian. I never had a childhood.

I was raised by a group of scientists, who took turns ‘parenting’ me. From ages 1-5, I lived in a

simulated home. I was a test subject for an experiment and I lived most of my life without a

name. The people who I knew as my parents named me Girl. So original isn’t it? Yeah, that’s

what I said. The house I lived in was yellow, and sometimes black. The exterior color changed a

lot. Growing up I remember very vividly that I had a sister who was also a test subject. She was

around the same age as me and she was the only other child that lived in the house with me.

A typical day in the house would look like, studying for simulation experiments using

pages from what in the old days were known as books. I learned how to read when I was 13

months old. I was the smartest child my parents had ever had. I soon learned that there were 20

other houses in our neighborhood. Once I grew old enough to long for relationships with people

other than just my sister, I became more curious, and attempted to open the door to leave my

house. The door led to a long dark hallway. I began to walk in the darkness until I saw a small

light gleaming from the corner. I went to look back to see how far from my house I was, but my

house was nowhere to be found. I was not easily frightened, so I ignored the fact that my house

was gone and continued to walk towards the light until I reached a thick, metal door. It read “Do

Not Enter”, I was used to reading books about how if I ever reached this door to tap the back of

my wrist 3 times and close my eyes. I never did find out what would happen if I did, because I
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never ended up doing what I was taught. I wasn’t even supposed to be reading books on

anything, as they were forbidden. My parents had books in our home and I would sneak and read

them late at night. I examined the door very carefully and noticed there was no lock on the door,

so I opened the door very carefully and closed my eyes as I walked out of what I knew as my

home.

On the other side of the door, was a street. I didn’t know what to call it at that time, but I

learned very quickly that the streets are dangerous. I saw objects shaped in odd ways that were

moving around at very fast speeds. Then, I saw a large group of people for the first time. They

looked to be around the same height as I was, and they were looking at little rectangular-shaped

glowing objects. I started to feel a flash of emotions, feelings of joy, pain, sadness, bitterness,

jealousy, rebellion, and fear. It was like someone had switched on my emotions after so many

years of living in the dark. A man approached me and said, “Come this way, we’ve been waiting

for your arrival.” I went to reply and I couldn’t seem to get many words out so I just said,

“Okay.” He guided me to what he called a car, and we drove for what felt like forever to a house

right off the mountainside. The next thing I remember was being given a backpack. Inside the

backpack there was a map, a book titled, “Starter Book”, and a lunch box packed with a variety

of foods. As I stepped out of the vehicle, a cold breeze rushed past me. Inside of what I thought

was a house, was a school. It was a school for the accelerated. I was 13 years old at this point in

my life. I spent 4 years learning impeccable skills and studying life changing experiments. Over

the years I bonded with a few people, however, I would only stay close with one person after I

graduated from the school. Her name was Petunia. She was raised in the school, and had no

recollection of any memories before attending the school. Petunia was just as smart as I was, if

not smarter. We would be given challenges to complete, and everytime Petunia and I would be
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the first ones to complete them. Once we graduated, we were given blank books to write in. It

was considered a formal graduation gift. Each student would write about their journey after

leaving the school. I had to learn that books were okay here, and I would not be punished for

having them. A majority of the students had written multiple books, however, Petunia and I came

from a place where books weren’t even allowed to be thought about. I left the school as soon as I

turned 17. I had the choice to stay until I was 19 or graduate early. I chose to leave as I wanted to

test the things I had learned over those 4 years. I moved away to a small town named

Brushelmoore. It was small compared to where I lived as a kid, however, someone who didn’t

grow up like me would’ve considered it to be a major city. I laid low the first two years, I stayed

in an apartment 15 minutes away from the town’s square. I observed and wrote on individual

pieces of paper about people from afar. I was scared to write in the book I had received as a

graduation gift, because I did not want to waste it on observations. As I walked to my desk near

the window, I noticed the book was laying open and there was a long letter written to me in the

book. The ink had appeared out of nowhere, and I became confused, as I had never written in the

book before. I felt a deep connection with the book, it was such a strong feeling that I felt it in

my soul. A loud knock on the door caused me to take a brief pause from reading the book. I

walked over to the door to see a note taped on the front of a pack of black pens. I picked the note

up and saw it was from Petunia. We hadn’t been in contact since I had graduated. In the note, she

told me to finish my story. At first I was confused, because I had never written the story, nor had

I talked to her since graduation. I took the pens into my home and closed the door. I noticed the

book was closed when I returned to my desk. I opened it once again, only to find that the words

were missing from the pages. The phone rang, and I scurried to answer it. I answered and said,

“Hello?” the voice from the other end answered back “Hi! This is Petunia!” I sighed in relief and
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proceeded to ask her why I couldn’t see what was written in the book. She replied, “It is because

you didn’t write down your thoughts as you read.” In that moment my memory began to fog,

everything became all jumbled up. I sat down at my desk, still holding the phone long after

Petunia and I had finished our conversation. The desk now had a black pen, my “Starter Book”

and my book I received after graduation. I began to ask myself questions about my observations.

Over the two years I observed the town’s people, I saw families, and I noticed they didn’t look

anything like mine. I began to notice differences between myself and the other children. I was

still a child when I moved to the town. I picked up the pen and began to write. I titled the cover,

“Don’t Miss”. Chapter by chapter I wrote the things I remembered. My life’s memories all

rushed back into my mind one by one. It was like my eyes were writing even though my hands

were doing the work. At the end of each chapter, I would write, “I now remember the days

before my time here in this town.” I was living outside of my body for all those years. I was not

aware of the power that books held. The scientists told me books were forbidden and that no

person was to ever read a book in its entirety. I was living in the dark, literally. I only went off of

what I was taught, however, all that time I knew about the door, I just never actually thought

about walking out of the door. My parents sent me off with a book, and that book went with me

wherever I was. It showed up a trillion times, but because I was so focused on learning new

things, I never stopped to write down what I learned. I would just retain it in my brain and then

wonder why I couldn’t remember it. The books brought me into the light. They helped me to

remember the days before my time here in this town.