Wordbound #3 (I Skipped #2)

So to preface this I should say that I skipped the last one because it scared me, because it meant that I would have to share fiction writing. I love fiction, and I love writing it. Sharing it on the other hand... not so much. It is easy for me to write my thoughts (on certain non-meaningful topics) but when it is something that is basically a window in to my brain I get skittish. So here is my first attempt at really sharing my writing. I should also say that I'm free-writing this so it isn't polished, but I had an idea from this prompt so I'm going from there. There is more of an explanation for Wordbound here. I moved over to the book section for this because it is fiction and doesn't really fit in my normal blog.

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There is a door in front of me that is closed. If I were to go through it it would contain moments of my life that are "important". These moments shaped my life and the lives of those around me. I am afraid to go through the door because while it could show happy moments like my first kiss, it is also likely to show the things that I did wrong. Who did I cause pain to with a thoughtless word? How many sad or angry faces will I see while I am oblivious?

I stare at the door. The hallway is bright but comfortable and the floor, wall, and ceiling is grey. The hallway has multiple doors that are all different colors. Doors are red, blue, green, brown, some broken, some with windows. On and on they go, seeming endless. Each door is different because they belong to different people. I thought this would be different but when you think about it you really don't know what to expect. I don't know how exactly I got here but I expect I will find out when I go through the door. If I go through the door. You have a choice, but I don't know what the alternative will be. Would I be stuck here forever until I finally go though? When you get here you walk until you find the door that is yours. There is no sign, you just know. Your door speaks to you in a way you don't understand. You recognize it in some way. Mine resembles the door to my home, where I felt most comfortable and myself. Strangely, one door I passed was for a dive bar. To each their own. Staring at my door I am scared, yet I want to see.

Our lives shouldn't be scary. What happened can't be changed, we simply watch what happened like we're using one of those Pensieve's from Harry Potter. I am here and I am dead and I am afraid that the life I am shown will not appear fulfilling because I had no "excitement". I didn't go on big trips or make a lot of money and my "success" in life was limited compared to others. I made no real contribution to society other than trying not to be an asshole. But I had a family and friends who mattered and I watched my children grow. I felt and reacted and was angry and sad and happy. I lived and tried my best as my wisdom grew to live each day well and without regret. I stand up straight, gather my courage, and step through the door.