I woke up and felt unopened. When I opened my eyes I had a sense of wonder and ahhh but I was tired and like the cap of my brain or my life wasn’t fully open and I wanted it to be. I went to yoga which opened me up a bit but all day I’ve been seeking a way to be more open as I don’t want to feel unopened
It was still there. Unopened. Like always. Everytime she found the little box, it was always closed. She knew she was bound to open it some time or other.
I never opened the letter he sent me. It had nothing to do with my fondness for him, which was limitless; it was more about an unwillingness to revert to the self I had been when he knew me. When we reconnected, I never told him, either; I didn’t want to disappoint him.
florencefarfaletti
Today i found a letter and I left it unopened. I was afraid of what it would tell me.
You sent me a text message but I left it unopened. I didn’t want you to see how fast I look at them.
You sent me a DM on Instagram but I left it unopened. I didn’t want you to see I saw your words.
I think it would be smarter, if you just left me,
unopened.
seems to be a bit off in the future, we dont mind because he keeps breaking out some surprising PEs this season.
nike air force 40eur
I have a dream, not a sleeping one, but a waking one. It comes to me all the time, not every day, but enough days for me to know that it still matters. I imagine myself going down to the mailbox, the kind you see in the country with the flags attached to them; the ones that you pull open to look inside, the ones that open like mouths to spill out all the gossip you do and don’t want to hear. And when I open the mailbox, instead of being full of garbage like flyers and coupons and bills and things you throw away with your eyes long before they hit the dustbin, there’s only one letter lying in there. A written letter from a person. And I don’t even have to reach in and pull it out to know who it’s from. Even from here, peering into the open mouth of the mailbox, I can see his small scratchy printing, the printing that used to life my soul up into the air, into the atmosphere. That printing I used to wait for months and days to see, that made wading all through the garbage worth it; that made me forget how long it had taken him to answer this time. And in this moment of imagining, I take out the letter and give the address with my name written there a good long look, like I always did. Looking to see if the way he wrote my name is any different from let’s say the way he writes the street address or the numbers; searching for any sign of what mood he was in when he wrote it but able to decipher nothing. But this time, I don’t do that. I take the letter in my hand and carry it up the driveway to the house and put it on the desk. Then I fish around in the top drawer for a clean white envelope, and slide his letter, unopened, in there. And carefully, I write his name and address, being sure that he can never decipher what I’m really thinking. I put a stamp on it, and instead of putting it back in the mailbox for the postman to take back, I walk for a mile to a mailbox, open the door and let the envelope slip from my fingers into the pile of other letters and thoughts and things sitting there in that box. Then I turn, and walk away. With tears in my eyes, of course.
sher
The group of men explored the cave, and discovered a vampire’s coffin. They, of course, left it unopened.
Crystal
Unopened laid the bottle of beer that sat on the old man’s coffee table; his eyes burned holes into the cold beverage. He had many reasons to drink, yet he refused, he knew one sip was all it took to fall victim again. One sip and he’d go back to his old self- the one his wife and children left him because of, the one he wished could be erased from the face of the Earth.
Chasity
The unopened can sat in the center of the room, taunting me. It looked like it might be openable with more effort– but was I willing to try? Would I put forth the effort that nobody else would bother to do, all for some black beans?
I steeled my resolve and brandished my can opener.
Grant
“Unopened” said a box on the doorstep. I looked down at it and opened it, and… I DIED!
A short horror story.
when i hear the word unopened i think of a letter that just got delivered to your mailbox, or a package. like a secret package with cool stuff in it that you just ordered on amazon that you have been waiting to open. or a book for me since i love to read.
Jazlyn Rosario
I’d tried to open it once. I opened it and then marked it as unread and left it sitting in my inbox. It was the only unread message there. It stared at me every time I opened my email. I thought about deleting this email address altogether and starting over, but that was silly. I’d had this email address for 10 years. I needed it, career-wise.
I didn’t need to open it. I knew what it said. I didn’t have to read it. He used to send emails to me when he didn’t want to talk about things in person or to give me the time to think through it calmly before he got home. I hated when he did that. He didn’t have the courage to sit down and have a real conversation with me.The subject said it all: Please Forgive Me. I knew that he was gone. I knew that every therapy session we’d paid for, every conversation we’d tried to work through, the fight that lasted our entire marriage had come to this: an unopened email telling me he would never return.
Jo'
this door is unopened. We can’t go out from this room. Everybody should to help together !!!
javier
I don’t like when I go to somewhere is unopened, that will make me upset, and waste my time. I wish everywhere will open 24 hours a day.
Jerry Chen
there i stood with my heart unopened. i’ve tried so many times but i always end up in my little cocoon where i am protected from being hurt or betrayed. i’ll stay sealed no matter what. i will live through this. i will become unbreakable. i will become unstoppable. i will remain… unopened.
Hone
“Eeeek”. She jumped out of her regular stride to avoid the frail pink creature on the sidewalk. She stared at its tiny bones, barely concealed by translucent skin. Its unopened eyes tightly clamped against the brutal world that it would succumb to shortly.
The bar of chocolate lay beside her right wrist, unopened. Rebecca imagined that the smell of the peppermint fondant in its milk chocolate shell was escaping its vacuum seal. Her mouth watered as she pounded out the words. Another 50 and a bite of the bar would be her prize.
Georgia Traher
She hit the edge of the jar a little too hard on the counter. It shattered, jam spilling over her hands. “Damnit!”
“What happened?”
“I couldn’t get this thing open and I was dumb and I hit it against the counter and- ugh.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No, it’s just jam.”
The letter remained unopened; not all stories are meant to be shared. Some die with their writers.
Mansi Jhingran
Like a job, who would not,an application , like that of a writer. An unopened salary, just for the love of writing. I can only imagine it.
Robert Kohlhammer
The letter sits on the desk, unopened. The looping shapes of my full name and address is neatly written in shiny black ink on the heavy, off-white envelope. It’s an inviting bit of calligraphy, and it makes me want to tear the whole thing into tiny pieces and set it all on fire.
letter, of course, what else remains. trite charred heart, cliched metaphors. Out of place, I am, although I love where I live.
Marylisa DeDomenicis
The box was unopened when I got it and it was full of plumbs and I oped it and all of the plumbs fell out than I ate it. Than I found another unopened box in the kitchen that was full of plugs.
sadads
The bottle was unopened, washed up on a deserted beach on a tropical island……
There was an old pirate letter in it, I was sure!
I opened the bottle very carefully and inside it was a tight little scroll of paper with a red ribbon tied around it….
Slowly I undid the red ribbon and I unravelled the scroll very carefully…….
Penny Beddows
I never opened that letter that came in the mail that day. I was too afraid so I left it unopened. It was probably to the wrong person anyway, but who know. I will never know because I left it unopened.
B. Hamilton
We are creatures curled, unbroken, un-unfurled, wrapped up within and within ourselves. We are shy and scared. We are tentative and reserved and even when we touch we are unopened.
The unopened letter lay on her bedside table. When did he send it? She had been waiting to hear from him for so long. She lifted the letter, then put it back down. She had grown used to not hearing from him, and wasn’t sure she wanted this to change.
JedTheRobo
“Be careful what you wish for,” the spirit said as she faded from sight, her voice echoing in the empty air, “Some doors should remain unopened…”
Tins and jars and empty shelves. Pressure building up until the edges are straining. Dusty corners and expiry dates. Shivering at the edges of everything.
Letting yourself to not evolve. Be open is being willing to change for the better.
cynthia
Now THAT was an unopened can of worms which nobody wanted to touch. So naturally, it was left to him to do so.
That’s what he had thought, at least.
When he opened his mouth and spoke, and all the past months’ of hard work fell apart like Jenga blocks, everyone turned to him. He realised then that maybe the can of worms had remained sealed tight for a reason.
There are so many parts of my heart that remain unopened. The secret webs, weeds, seeds, and buds that have yet to blossom. But like a prairie, not every plant is desirable or necessary. Some, given the opportunity to bloom, will choke out the beautiful daisies, petunias, or morning glories. Some, in their natural state, are best to be left unopened.
An unopened mind is something that causes a person to be guarded and secured and safe from getting hurt.
Chie
Andy dropped to her stomach, and scooted under the bed. She knew that it was unlikely that someone would come in now, but she had learned to take precautions. She wriggled the unopened box from her pocket, and then used her nimble fingers to quietly undo the tape.
cally d
I found the unopened letter my father had written me in the bottom drawer of an old dresser, which hadn’t been used in years, and had been collecting dust and ornate cobwebs in the garage right next to my brother’s forgotten Stratocaster and my mother’s bottle collection. Once I discovered it, however, I didn’t bother to fetch a letter opener or use my nails. I just let it sit, sealed, on my cluttered desk for another six years before finally deciding to bite the bullet.
Belinda Roddie
I stared at the unopened box on the table in front of me.
“What’s in it?” I ask.
“The end of the world'” she says gravely.
“The end of the world?” I stare incredulously at her.
“Yes,” she replies. “Which is why I’ve invited you here. The lid is cracked. They say you can fix anything. Can you fix this?”
I didn’t think anybody could fix what they’d done, not even God.
If there was a box sitting by the doorway, unopened, then why is it there? I don’t see what is inside it. I don’t know where it has been. There is no label, no understanding of it’s manifestation. Like me, it stays frozen and closed off from knowledge and others. I wonder to myself what would happen if I simply peered inside.
Gabriella Ashlin
Something that is undiscovered, unseen by the eyes of whoever holds the possesion, mystery is encased in an unopened outer layer and it is unknown what lies beneath.
Grace Messer
The casket was unopened, as suggested by the local mortician. Danny’s stunned mother and stone-faced father hadn’t offered up too much resistance to that suggestion. They said Danny had taken a bullet to the head. The force of the exiting projectile had taken off the entire back of his head.
I woke up and felt unopened. When I opened my eyes I had a sense of wonder and ahhh but I was tired and like the cap of my brain or my life wasn’t fully open and I wanted it to be. I went to yoga which opened me up a bit but all day I’ve been seeking a way to be more open as I don’t want to feel unopened
It was still there. Unopened. Like always. Everytime she found the little box, it was always closed. She knew she was bound to open it some time or other.
I never opened the letter he sent me. It had nothing to do with my fondness for him, which was limitless; it was more about an unwillingness to revert to the self I had been when he knew me. When we reconnected, I never told him, either; I didn’t want to disappoint him.
Today i found a letter and I left it unopened. I was afraid of what it would tell me.
You sent me a text message but I left it unopened. I didn’t want you to see how fast I look at them.
You sent me a DM on Instagram but I left it unopened. I didn’t want you to see I saw your words.
I think it would be smarter, if you just left me,
unopened.
seems to be a bit off in the future, we dont mind because he keeps breaking out some surprising PEs this season.
I have a dream, not a sleeping one, but a waking one. It comes to me all the time, not every day, but enough days for me to know that it still matters. I imagine myself going down to the mailbox, the kind you see in the country with the flags attached to them; the ones that you pull open to look inside, the ones that open like mouths to spill out all the gossip you do and don’t want to hear. And when I open the mailbox, instead of being full of garbage like flyers and coupons and bills and things you throw away with your eyes long before they hit the dustbin, there’s only one letter lying in there. A written letter from a person. And I don’t even have to reach in and pull it out to know who it’s from. Even from here, peering into the open mouth of the mailbox, I can see his small scratchy printing, the printing that used to life my soul up into the air, into the atmosphere. That printing I used to wait for months and days to see, that made wading all through the garbage worth it; that made me forget how long it had taken him to answer this time. And in this moment of imagining, I take out the letter and give the address with my name written there a good long look, like I always did. Looking to see if the way he wrote my name is any different from let’s say the way he writes the street address or the numbers; searching for any sign of what mood he was in when he wrote it but able to decipher nothing. But this time, I don’t do that. I take the letter in my hand and carry it up the driveway to the house and put it on the desk. Then I fish around in the top drawer for a clean white envelope, and slide his letter, unopened, in there. And carefully, I write his name and address, being sure that he can never decipher what I’m really thinking. I put a stamp on it, and instead of putting it back in the mailbox for the postman to take back, I walk for a mile to a mailbox, open the door and let the envelope slip from my fingers into the pile of other letters and thoughts and things sitting there in that box. Then I turn, and walk away. With tears in my eyes, of course.
The group of men explored the cave, and discovered a vampire’s coffin. They, of course, left it unopened.
Unopened laid the bottle of beer that sat on the old man’s coffee table; his eyes burned holes into the cold beverage. He had many reasons to drink, yet he refused, he knew one sip was all it took to fall victim again. One sip and he’d go back to his old self- the one his wife and children left him because of, the one he wished could be erased from the face of the Earth.
The unopened can sat in the center of the room, taunting me. It looked like it might be openable with more effort– but was I willing to try? Would I put forth the effort that nobody else would bother to do, all for some black beans?
I steeled my resolve and brandished my can opener.
“Unopened” said a box on the doorstep. I looked down at it and opened it, and… I DIED!
A short horror story.
when i hear the word unopened i think of a letter that just got delivered to your mailbox, or a package. like a secret package with cool stuff in it that you just ordered on amazon that you have been waiting to open. or a book for me since i love to read.
I’d tried to open it once. I opened it and then marked it as unread and left it sitting in my inbox. It was the only unread message there. It stared at me every time I opened my email. I thought about deleting this email address altogether and starting over, but that was silly. I’d had this email address for 10 years. I needed it, career-wise.
I didn’t need to open it. I knew what it said. I didn’t have to read it. He used to send emails to me when he didn’t want to talk about things in person or to give me the time to think through it calmly before he got home. I hated when he did that. He didn’t have the courage to sit down and have a real conversation with me.The subject said it all: Please Forgive Me. I knew that he was gone. I knew that every therapy session we’d paid for, every conversation we’d tried to work through, the fight that lasted our entire marriage had come to this: an unopened email telling me he would never return.
this door is unopened. We can’t go out from this room. Everybody should to help together !!!
I don’t like when I go to somewhere is unopened, that will make me upset, and waste my time. I wish everywhere will open 24 hours a day.
there i stood with my heart unopened. i’ve tried so many times but i always end up in my little cocoon where i am protected from being hurt or betrayed. i’ll stay sealed no matter what. i will live through this. i will become unbreakable. i will become unstoppable. i will remain… unopened.
“Eeeek”. She jumped out of her regular stride to avoid the frail pink creature on the sidewalk. She stared at its tiny bones, barely concealed by translucent skin. Its unopened eyes tightly clamped against the brutal world that it would succumb to shortly.
The bar of chocolate lay beside her right wrist, unopened. Rebecca imagined that the smell of the peppermint fondant in its milk chocolate shell was escaping its vacuum seal. Her mouth watered as she pounded out the words. Another 50 and a bite of the bar would be her prize.
She hit the edge of the jar a little too hard on the counter. It shattered, jam spilling over her hands. “Damnit!”
“What happened?”
“I couldn’t get this thing open and I was dumb and I hit it against the counter and- ugh.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No, it’s just jam.”
The letter remained unopened; not all stories are meant to be shared. Some die with their writers.
Like a job, who would not,an application , like that of a writer. An unopened salary, just for the love of writing. I can only imagine it.
The letter sits on the desk, unopened. The looping shapes of my full name and address is neatly written in shiny black ink on the heavy, off-white envelope. It’s an inviting bit of calligraphy, and it makes me want to tear the whole thing into tiny pieces and set it all on fire.
I stare at it some more.
letter, of course, what else remains. trite charred heart, cliched metaphors. Out of place, I am, although I love where I live.
The box was unopened when I got it and it was full of plumbs and I oped it and all of the plumbs fell out than I ate it. Than I found another unopened box in the kitchen that was full of plugs.
The bottle was unopened, washed up on a deserted beach on a tropical island……
There was an old pirate letter in it, I was sure!
I opened the bottle very carefully and inside it was a tight little scroll of paper with a red ribbon tied around it….
Slowly I undid the red ribbon and I unravelled the scroll very carefully…….
I never opened that letter that came in the mail that day. I was too afraid so I left it unopened. It was probably to the wrong person anyway, but who know. I will never know because I left it unopened.
We are creatures curled, unbroken, un-unfurled, wrapped up within and within ourselves. We are shy and scared. We are tentative and reserved and even when we touch we are unopened.
The unopened letter lay on her bedside table. When did he send it? She had been waiting to hear from him for so long. She lifted the letter, then put it back down. She had grown used to not hearing from him, and wasn’t sure she wanted this to change.
“Be careful what you wish for,” the spirit said as she faded from sight, her voice echoing in the empty air, “Some doors should remain unopened…”
Tins and jars and empty shelves. Pressure building up until the edges are straining. Dusty corners and expiry dates. Shivering at the edges of everything.
Focus
Letting yourself to not evolve. Be open is being willing to change for the better.
Now THAT was an unopened can of worms which nobody wanted to touch. So naturally, it was left to him to do so.
That’s what he had thought, at least.
When he opened his mouth and spoke, and all the past months’ of hard work fell apart like Jenga blocks, everyone turned to him. He realised then that maybe the can of worms had remained sealed tight for a reason.
There are so many parts of my heart that remain unopened. The secret webs, weeds, seeds, and buds that have yet to blossom. But like a prairie, not every plant is desirable or necessary. Some, given the opportunity to bloom, will choke out the beautiful daisies, petunias, or morning glories. Some, in their natural state, are best to be left unopened.
An unopened mind is something that causes a person to be guarded and secured and safe from getting hurt.
Andy dropped to her stomach, and scooted under the bed. She knew that it was unlikely that someone would come in now, but she had learned to take precautions. She wriggled the unopened box from her pocket, and then used her nimble fingers to quietly undo the tape.
I found the unopened letter my father had written me in the bottom drawer of an old dresser, which hadn’t been used in years, and had been collecting dust and ornate cobwebs in the garage right next to my brother’s forgotten Stratocaster and my mother’s bottle collection. Once I discovered it, however, I didn’t bother to fetch a letter opener or use my nails. I just let it sit, sealed, on my cluttered desk for another six years before finally deciding to bite the bullet.
I stared at the unopened box on the table in front of me.
“What’s in it?” I ask.
“The end of the world'” she says gravely.
“The end of the world?” I stare incredulously at her.
“Yes,” she replies. “Which is why I’ve invited you here. The lid is cracked. They say you can fix anything. Can you fix this?”
I didn’t think anybody could fix what they’d done, not even God.
If there was a box sitting by the doorway, unopened, then why is it there? I don’t see what is inside it. I don’t know where it has been. There is no label, no understanding of it’s manifestation. Like me, it stays frozen and closed off from knowledge and others. I wonder to myself what would happen if I simply peered inside.
Something that is undiscovered, unseen by the eyes of whoever holds the possesion, mystery is encased in an unopened outer layer and it is unknown what lies beneath.
The casket was unopened, as suggested by the local mortician. Danny’s stunned mother and stone-faced father hadn’t offered up too much resistance to that suggestion. They said Danny had taken a bullet to the head. The force of the exiting projectile had taken off the entire back of his head.