It’s the thing that makes going through a door possible. And I want to. I want to go through doors. Sometimes I am afraid. And I want to stop being afraid. The hinge is there to close any door I should not go through, so if the door is open why not just go ahead.
The battered door creaks as the rusted, old hinges slowly turn to open it. I remember as a child I would dash through the house and slam the door with youthful vigor. As time wore on the door remained bruised from my childish insensitivity. The hinges stayed loose and weakened from my nuisance. Now I understand the old door’s dilapidated state, bearing two hinges that have survived through not only my harms but the world’s harms as well. As the house collapsed many years ago through a natural course of aging. The wooden walls and beams had rotted and the weight of the roof could no longer be raised. So it fell. Yet even though the house now lays in perish, the damaged door still stands. The hinges still uphold it with every grain of strength left within them. It’s impeccable that a lesser form of cruelty can mold anything into something that can outlast merciless anguish.
The door rattled on its hinges, but didn’t otherwise budge. He could hear her shrieking behind it, could hear her being torn to pieces by the thing they’d unwittingly trapped in there with her.
“ERIKA!” Gav screamed as loudly as he could, pounding his fists against the wood and wishing someone would hear them and break the salt line before it was too late.
I shoved the door open and it swung back and forth on it’s hinges, making eerie, uncomfortable noises that rang out through the eerie, uncomfortable night. I immediately regretted the action when three pairs of glowing white eyes trained their sites on me and stealthily made their way through the dark. Fear pounded in my chest as I realized that the door behind me had closed, and that the chances of my escape from the mercenaries were slowly dwindling.
The hinge buckled and the soggy wood shed into soft splinters, peeling away from the frame. The opening revealed a room cast with blue underwater light that webbed through the verdant vines on the warped windows. Cracks threaded through the stone floor seeping monastical indigo ink that saturated the air with a thick silence. I lit a candle and like a flower it bloomed quickly and then died, leaving a withered curl of velvety smoke.
there are hinges everywhere. Body hinges, door hinges, shoot…jjust hinges. Why would someone make hinges? They were probably tired of moving the stone from the cave. Who knows. Quite Frankly, Im just glad that
The lid creaked as she pried it apart. A smell like dust and cedar enveloped the little box, and three folded papers greeted her wandering fingers. Special words, the greatest of her life. Last words.
The hinges of his jaw creaked as he grinned, his sallow skin twisting into that same dead expression my nightmares loved to remind me of. A row of unnaturally gray teeth glinted from between his wooden lips, shining like frog eggs. I shivered.
“What’s the matter?” Even his speech sounded like rusty nails. “Afraid of dolls?”
Yeah, I thought, swallowing hard. Yeah I’m afraid of dolls, no thanks to you.
Beady eyes glinted back at me in the dark, all-seeing, more aware than I dared contemplate. He didn’t stop smiling.
It’s broken, hanging at an angle like someone has forced the door open with blunt force. The kind of force that suggests that someone wanted to get in quickly, viciously to whatever was on the other side. It doesn’t matter who did it. It doesn’t even matter when. What does matter to John is whether they got at the person on the other side. Did they get to them and hurt them?
She became unhinged at the seems, both the visible and invisible ones. Life broke all around her in glass shards of pain and torment. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing made sense. It was all futile and she was torn apart, inch by inch.
I’m planning on a new kitchen but it all hinges on what my husband wants – he is becoming a total control freak! Think Iwill have to get rid of him – he has forgotten that he does nothing in kitchen and that it is my domain!!! pratt!!!!!
i like it so much built with a giant door and my filthy parents are watching my every move! help me you sons of bitches! I DONT GO TO COMMUNITY COLLEGE!! ITS ADULT HIGHSCHOOL EVERYONE HAS A DAMN SMOKING KID. girls are for men
I slammed the door shut, hearing it rattle on its hinges just added to my frustration. I can’t believe that she would leave me like that. I loved her, and he loved me. Or at least he said he did. I don’t even know what to think anymore…
It’s funny, the way things are. Everything you know can depend on just one moment in time, that’s stuck and frozen and place. And then suddenly it melts and its gone. Everything is gone. Disappeared. Forever. Your life- everything about it -is just holding on. Hanging by a hinge.
The squeaky hinge filled my soul with so much happiness. I never thought I could love that sound so much. It meant I was closer, I was finally going to be there. To reach into that cold place, so familiar to my senses. To finally, finally, FINALLY, FIIIINNNAAAALLLYYY…eat.
unhinge me.
I am a joint, an elbow, a knee play.
Is Einstein happy on the beach?
I have often been described as ‘unhinged’,
but I think I’m just lacking the support.
Careful not to upset the creaking hinges of the weather beaten door, he slipped into the darkened room beyond. His shadow danced on the far wall as the crept along stealthily, sometimes taking the shape of a man and sometimes elongating into that of something not quite human. He paused, listening for any sign of movement, then silently made his way over to where his quarry lay asleep.
I stared at the hinge. It hung open. I was unsure why to do next. Should I enter through the gate? What would I find when I got inside? One thing was sure. I could not ignore the creaking sounds from below. I had to see for myself.
The hinges on the door are old and brass and they know they could break the door down with one well-placed kick but they’re almost too nice to destroy, so they ease them open laughing and tumble onto the bed and the door swings, swings, swings on those rusty things high on the third floor of a building too old to hold them and they know it’s haunted, but the ghosts can wait.
The hinge clatters to the floor, a moment after the resounding thud of the old door. Charlie starts chuckling. “That’s weird.” He picks it up, eyes it for a moment, and then throws it out the window. They hear it make a sharp noise as it contacts with Darla’s car roof.
“So I’m thinking about moving out of here,” he says. “Without you.”
She never oiled it. It was a loud welcome home siren, which gave her just enough time to shove him out the bedroom window and put on her good wife clothes.
I hated being in the middle of everything. They always made me the one to make the decisions. Choose between them; that’s what they wanted me to do. LIke a door hinge. I had to be the one to pick which way to go. I was sick of it.
Im on the hinge of the doorknob
Waiting to swin open
I see a path in front of me
Yet I am hesitant to take it
Im on the hinge of life
What is past the door is what
Life has for me next
Im waiting for it to open once more
To set me free
He just lay there, peaceful. By now we knew he was gone. Gone from us, gone forever. At this I jumped up, head throbbing and nauseous. All I wanted was a shower. I didn’t want to speak, it felt as if my jaw was held by a tight hinge anyways, I didn’t want to eat. I just wanted to hug him and apologize. Apologize for being so bad to him, for never giving him enough attention, for everything. “He was a good dog,” Ryan sad. He was.
a door frame hidden from view. moving left to right. a comparison between the light and dark. a constant turning, moving striving to be in the next space. swingining back and forth between two worlds. like the swing next door always moving in the wind. waiting for someone to sit and take the journey too. always waiting, moving and hoping.
It’s the thing that makes going through a door possible. And I want to. I want to go through doors. Sometimes I am afraid. And I want to stop being afraid. The hinge is there to close any door I should not go through, so if the door is open why not just go ahead.
By Mary Lisa URL on 01.24.2012
The battered door creaks as the rusted, old hinges slowly turn to open it. I remember as a child I would dash through the house and slam the door with youthful vigor. As time wore on the door remained bruised from my childish insensitivity. The hinges stayed loose and weakened from my nuisance. Now I understand the old door’s dilapidated state, bearing two hinges that have survived through not only my harms but the world’s harms as well. As the house collapsed many years ago through a natural course of aging. The wooden walls and beams had rotted and the weight of the roof could no longer be raised. So it fell. Yet even though the house now lays in perish, the damaged door still stands. The hinges still uphold it with every grain of strength left within them. It’s impeccable that a lesser form of cruelty can mold anything into something that can outlast merciless anguish.
By Alex Cornell URL on 01.24.2012
Red crustacean
Like marks appear on the hinges
Of my fingers
Making them bend like stiff
Pine trees in a lonely breeze
My digits are enflamed
Like the skin devil is living beneath them
Fueling a fire of a life
I do not quite understand
I can cover them
Or I can simply let it be
By ellie griffith on 01.24.2012
My fingers hurt.
I don’t know why.
Maybe I should have stayed away and my child won’t have crushed my fingers with the door.
By abe URL on 01.24.2012
the door hinge slowly squeaks as i think of you in a room full of haunted memories…..
By aubrey URL on 01.24.2012
The door rattled on its hinges, but didn’t otherwise budge. He could hear her shrieking behind it, could hear her being torn to pieces by the thing they’d unwittingly trapped in there with her.
“ERIKA!” Gav screamed as loudly as he could, pounding his fists against the wood and wishing someone would hear them and break the salt line before it was too late.
By Julia A. URL on 01.24.2012
I shoved the door open and it swung back and forth on it’s hinges, making eerie, uncomfortable noises that rang out through the eerie, uncomfortable night. I immediately regretted the action when three pairs of glowing white eyes trained their sites on me and stealthily made their way through the dark. Fear pounded in my chest as I realized that the door behind me had closed, and that the chances of my escape from the mercenaries were slowly dwindling.
By Riley URL on 01.24.2012
The hinge buckled and the soggy wood shed into soft splinters, peeling away from the frame. The opening revealed a room cast with blue underwater light that webbed through the verdant vines on the warped windows. Cracks threaded through the stone floor seeping monastical indigo ink that saturated the air with a thick silence. I lit a candle and like a flower it bloomed quickly and then died, leaving a withered curl of velvety smoke.
By mere URL on 01.24.2012
there are hinges everywhere. Body hinges, door hinges, shoot…jjust hinges. Why would someone make hinges? They were probably tired of moving the stone from the cave. Who knows. Quite Frankly, Im just glad that
By carmen on 01.24.2012
life is like a hinge that i goes to and fro, but i know that beyond this life, there is life for everyone that does the things God wants us to do,
By akira on 01.24.2012
The lid creaked as she pried it apart. A smell like dust and cedar enveloped the little box, and three folded papers greeted her wandering fingers. Special words, the greatest of her life. Last words.
By Mintolate Tea URL on 01.24.2012
The hinges of his jaw creaked as he grinned, his sallow skin twisting into that same dead expression my nightmares loved to remind me of. A row of unnaturally gray teeth glinted from between his wooden lips, shining like frog eggs. I shivered.
“What’s the matter?” Even his speech sounded like rusty nails. “Afraid of dolls?”
Yeah, I thought, swallowing hard. Yeah I’m afraid of dolls, no thanks to you.
Beady eyes glinted back at me in the dark, all-seeing, more aware than I dared contemplate. He didn’t stop smiling.
By Jewel Lightraye URL on 01.24.2012
It’s broken, hanging at an angle like someone has forced the door open with blunt force. The kind of force that suggests that someone wanted to get in quickly, viciously to whatever was on the other side. It doesn’t matter who did it. It doesn’t even matter when. What does matter to John is whether they got at the person on the other side. Did they get to them and hurt them?
By Charlie on 01.24.2012
She became unhinged at the seems, both the visible and invisible ones. Life broke all around her in glass shards of pain and torment. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing made sense. It was all futile and she was torn apart, inch by inch.
By Nina155 URL on 01.24.2012
I’m planning on a new kitchen but it all hinges on what my husband wants – he is becoming a total control freak! Think Iwill have to get rid of him – he has forgotten that he does nothing in kitchen and that it is my domain!!! pratt!!!!!
By matilda URL on 01.24.2012
i like it so much built with a giant door and my filthy parents are watching my every move! help me you sons of bitches! I DONT GO TO COMMUNITY COLLEGE!! ITS ADULT HIGHSCHOOL EVERYONE HAS A DAMN SMOKING KID. girls are for men
By james on 01.24.2012
I slammed the door shut, hearing it rattle on its hinges just added to my frustration. I can’t believe that she would leave me like that. I loved her, and he loved me. Or at least he said he did. I don’t even know what to think anymore…
By NCISaddict on 01.24.2012
It’s funny, the way things are. Everything you know can depend on just one moment in time, that’s stuck and frozen and place. And then suddenly it melts and its gone. Everything is gone. Disappeared. Forever. Your life- everything about it -is just holding on. Hanging by a hinge.
By Rani on 01.24.2012
The squeaky hinge filled my soul with so much happiness. I never thought I could love that sound so much. It meant I was closer, I was finally going to be there. To reach into that cold place, so familiar to my senses. To finally, finally, FINALLY, FIIIINNNAAAALLLYYY…eat.
By Victoria URL on 01.24.2012
a breaking point. about to fall into the depths. turning point. pintch
By standish james on 01.24.2012
a thing to hold the door, help it open and close freely help to pivot
By arvinder on 01.24.2012
broken off, I’m fallen. Holding pieces together. Nothing that can help me, I’m stuck here. I can’t do anything.
By Rose on 01.24.2012
unhinge me.
I am a joint, an elbow, a knee play.
Is Einstein happy on the beach?
I have often been described as ‘unhinged’,
but I think I’m just lacking the support.
By blahblah1 on 01.24.2012
Careful not to upset the creaking hinges of the weather beaten door, he slipped into the darkened room beyond. His shadow danced on the far wall as the crept along stealthily, sometimes taking the shape of a man and sometimes elongating into that of something not quite human. He paused, listening for any sign of movement, then silently made his way over to where his quarry lay asleep.
By WearyWater URL on 01.24.2012
I stared at the hinge. It hung open. I was unsure why to do next. Should I enter through the gate? What would I find when I got inside? One thing was sure. I could not ignore the creaking sounds from below. I had to see for myself.
By Tami Beld on 01.24.2012
The hinge on that damn kitchen cabinet. Every time I hear that cringing shriek I want to rip the door off and throw it across the room.
And yet.
You built it, so it remains.
By Emily on 01.24.2012
The hinges on the door are old and brass and they know they could break the door down with one well-placed kick but they’re almost too nice to destroy, so they ease them open laughing and tumble onto the bed and the door swings, swings, swings on those rusty things high on the third floor of a building too old to hold them and they know it’s haunted, but the ghosts can wait.
By askance URL on 01.24.2012
The hinge clatters to the floor, a moment after the resounding thud of the old door. Charlie starts chuckling. “That’s weird.” He picks it up, eyes it for a moment, and then throws it out the window. They hear it make a sharp noise as it contacts with Darla’s car roof.
“So I’m thinking about moving out of here,” he says. “Without you.”
By Annie P URL on 01.24.2012
She never oiled it. It was a loud welcome home siren, which gave her just enough time to shove him out the bedroom window and put on her good wife clothes.
By under that tree URL on 01.24.2012
Faith rests,
pauses,
switches back
limits described by a stop
by a lack of perfect motion
so much depends
so much
red wheel barrows for all
By Tom Curry URL on 01.24.2012
I hated being in the middle of everything. They always made me the one to make the decisions. Choose between them; that’s what they wanted me to do. LIke a door hinge. I had to be the one to pick which way to go. I was sick of it.
By Brittany on 01.24.2012
a gold one, please, to match with the others
By Nanduinha URL on 01.24.2012
Im on the hinge of the doorknob
Waiting to swin open
I see a path in front of me
Yet I am hesitant to take it
Im on the hinge of life
What is past the door is what
Life has for me next
Im waiting for it to open once more
To set me free
By Carina URL on 01.24.2012
The door needs the hinge, to be a working door. But the door doesn’t know it needs the hinge, and the hinge doesn’t know the door is depending on it.
By Jazz on 01.24.2012
It all hinges on this one decision. But will she do the right thing?
By Tanya B. URL on 01.24.2012
unhinge my mind. let it fall off the edge. is it for the better? who knows, but i like it better that way.
By lucinda URL on 01.24.2012
He just lay there, peaceful. By now we knew he was gone. Gone from us, gone forever. At this I jumped up, head throbbing and nauseous. All I wanted was a shower. I didn’t want to speak, it felt as if my jaw was held by a tight hinge anyways, I didn’t want to eat. I just wanted to hug him and apologize. Apologize for being so bad to him, for never giving him enough attention, for everything. “He was a good dog,” Ryan sad. He was.
By Paige Noel URL on 01.24.2012
the door swung open and opened my eyes to see and my hands to take the ring off my right hand and ask a man a question.
By Daniel Damian URL on 01.24.2012
a screeching sound like nails on a chalkboard as I wonder around, plotting my next move.
By thegirlyoullneverknow on 01.24.2012
a door frame hidden from view. moving left to right. a comparison between the light and dark. a constant turning, moving striving to be in the next space. swingining back and forth between two worlds. like the swing next door always moving in the wind. waiting for someone to sit and take the journey too. always waiting, moving and hoping.
By erica on 01.24.2012