It’s a winter Monday morning in the rusty town of Burgess, Texas. As I walked into the diner, I couldn’t help but notice the shaggy old man across the bar from me.  He keeps on mumbling something under his breath between his drinks of whiskey. I can’t help but to stare at him, his eyes give off this tale full of pain and agony.  My mind wanders off imagining his life as if I had lived it; I then notice he spotted me looking at him. He doesn’t seem too shocked at this, instead he starts yelling at the bartender for not giving him the refill he had asked for. 

The man then gets up and starts throwing cups across the diner, threatening people, just making himself look more troubled than what he actually might be. Quickly three men come from the back with a couple of bats ready for a nasty three to one. I then start heading for the door not wanting to witness what was about to happen. When I pass by him the man grabs my shoulder and leans in to whispers the words “Cellar Door”. His horrible stench makes me start gagging but I quickly get up when I hear the first swing go down straight for his face. I refuse to look back and see what they were doing to him. I hurry to the car and notice that I’m sweating profusely and my hands shaking out of my control. I slam the car door and take off from there in less than a second.

The whole drive home I try to calm myself down, trying to pretend as if nothing had happened but that quickly became impossible with the words Cellar Door repeating over and over in my mind. When I reach my house I feel a sense of relief.  I put the keys down on the kitchen table and head towards the bathroom to take a shower. When I get out I sit down on the corner of my bed, still shocked at what happened. I lay down hoping to take a nap, ready to see this as a bad dream.

Wednesday afternoon and I’m in class, weeks have passed since that day. I never bothered to look up the meaning to “Cellar Door”, I realized how pathetic I would have looked if I really took interest in something some psycho told me. Although, pathetic would be the perfect word for the way my life is going at the moment. I’m supposed to be a writer and finishing up my masters degree. My averages aren’t adding up anywhere close to passing and I have no recent books to my name. After class, I head on over to the local library to check out a certain book that the professor told the class to read. I pass shelf after shelf looking for this book but no luck. I soon get tired of looking so I ask an employee for help. The lady that helps me, Sandy, had a permanent look on her face that made her seem surprised at what everyone had to say. As we were walking towards the shelf her smell would travel back to me, the sweet smell of a cheap brand mocking Estee Lauder.  She drops a couple of books while reaching for mine, to my surprise I then notice the book “Cellar Door” at my feet. I don’t know whether to reach down and grab it or run away from it. I knew this was too big a coincidence to just simply ignore it. My cheeks start feeling warm and my lunch is knocking, ready to get out. After snatching the two books I head out the door.  Crossing the street, I see a small white Volkswagen Beetle crash into me.  As my mind is fading, I see the same old man from the diner get out of the car. With my heartbeat slowing down every second, I put my hand out desperately hoping for him to help me. Of course, I don’t receive that luxury.   Instead he kisses my forehead, smiles when he sees the book in my hands, and just simply walks away. The sirens start swarming the city and all I can hear, is myself panting for some air.