What's behind the door? #flashfiction and #interview with @Christyblow68
Author of
Interview # 2 (of 2)
Duh, Harry Potter or Twilight.
What authors have inspired you to write?
I would have to say all of them. I find pieces of every author I have ever read in my writing. I especially feel inspired by the personification of death and speaking that Zusak creates in The Book Thief, the imagery of the " flapping pigeon-winged books dying on the porch in Bradbury,s Fahrenheit 451 fire, the frame story and innocent childlike emotions of the deadly monster in Shelly's Frankenstein, and the allusions and mythology in The Divine Comedy. There is so much more but it would go on and on.
Do you have any advice on how to deal with bad reviews?
Well, first I cry, and then I search for the validity. I then seek the solace of my mother's unconditionally loving words of praise. I cry a few more times and then I go back and validate myself with the positive reviews.
What’s behind the door? Why is it closed?
There it is again. The three knocks. The demonic mocking of the trinity.
I snatch the blankets over my head, but then I realize if it is a serial killer on the other side of the door and not a demon spirit, then it would be much easier for him to kill me this way. This revelation, and the sweat dripping off of me, force me to pull the covers down.
What do I do?
I can't put my feet on the ground. There is probably some creature under there waiting to grab my leg and drag me to Hell. Three more knocks and there is growling this time. Of all the times for my parents to go on a date.
Why tonight? Why on a full moon? Growling could mean zombies. Can it be time for zombies already?
The chill of all of my hair standing on end demands that I stand up on the bed and prepare to run for the door and shove it open with all of my force. More growling, Oh God what is that squealing?
That's it. It's time. I will either fall out with fear or be a man and rush the door. Before I have made my decision, the door slowly creaks open and the yellow light from the hall leaks into the darkness of my room. My panic is taking flight inside of me. My head is spinning.
Without another thought or instant passing, I hurl myself toward the door as if I am flying. My feet hit the floor so hard that the house shakes, and in one swift motion I swing the door wide open. The light floods in.
Relief washes over me as I see my kitten, Fluffy, boxing around a cat toy. That is what hit my door. Every sound is explained, and I feel calm. Then from around the corner in the hall, a creepy raspy voice of death screams, "Brains! Must have Brains! "
