Equadistant

Here is the first bit of an idea I had, a pretty good opening I think.
Feel free to respond. (although you'd think I'd quit begging for responses by now since the only time I got even ONE response was when I pissed someone off and didn't even read it cause I deleted the whole thing before I even noticed I HAD a comment, the girl who sent it apologized profusely and it was only THEN I even found out she had responded to a posting!)
regardless, I hope someone, out there in the great black void of cyber space enjoys this.

Cori

Equidistant

The damn door was stuck again, and I suppressed a growl of frustration. I'd been after the landlord of my dingy little tenement for weeks to come deal with the the temperamental lock. The idiotic thing would refuse to lock when I needed it to and would stubbornly stick when I requested entrance (no matter how humble the entreaty). Tonight of course just had to be one of those times. My arms were full of grocery bags, I had my back pack slung over one shoulder where it threatened to slide off and my worn brass keys were now seized by the door knob like a metal miser clinging to his gold. I couldn't rotate the key in the lock left or right and I couldn't pull it back about again. I ground my teeth, shut my eyes and silently counted to ten while practicing deep breathing excersize. I shook out my right hand before clasping the key gently and cajoled the lock, leaning and jiggling and coaxing it to turn or at the very least yield up my keys. Nothing doing, it refused, the tarnished brass lock and key frozen completely motionless as if a single cast item. The crook of my left arm was growing stiff from the cold and weight of a gallon of milk I had precariously balanced. I let out an explosive breath, I would triumph, I would gain entrance to my humble abode, I would get this contumacious lock to yield if it was the last thing I did. I tried again, the minute twist to the left, followed by the quick jig to the right, slight pressure against the lock, then slightly stronger pull away. It was a complex and exacting dance I'd come to know entirely too well. I felt it, the tiny click against my sensitive fingers, that compression that signaled imminent release. It was then my phone rang. It's call clarion loud even through the dilapidated, disinclined door.

“Shit!” I growled, I was waiting for a very important call and I couldn't get to the damn phone! I twisted hard on the key, nothing, the pressure eased and the key was still soundly stuck and I'd have to start the ridiculous jig all over again if I wanted in before the answering machine kicked in. Four rings, just four rings before I was screwed, a matter of seconds, moments, heartbeats. Finally, I abandoned all sense of finesse and using my stuck key as a fulcrum I twisted the ring around and against the base of the key, the remaining keys and small pocket knife gripped hard against my palm as I wrenched it all counterclockwise, wrenched hard and felt the key itself start to give, the metal twisting under the onslaught before finally, grudgingly the lock slowly rotated. I leaned in, turning harder and praying the lock released before the key buckled. It was a close call the reclariant lock gave way right before I felt the metal rend. The released pressure popped the door open and I tumbled into the foyer. Calling it a foyer might be a little misleading, really the two foot by three foot patch of linoleum in front of the door constituted a full half of my living/dining room area. The gallon of milk went flying, and a bag of groceries escaped my grasp. I saw it all in slow motion, the gallon of milk as it traveled with impressive velocity towards the mountain bike that leaned against the counter in front of me. I watched in horror as it hit the gears on the rear wheel and explode like a cream filled pipe bomb. Simultaneously the bag I had been clutching hit the linoleum at my feet, the bottom of the brown paper splitting wide with the unmistakable sound of eggs breaking.

“Shit!” I said again, aghast at the mess, and loss of vittals. Even the sound of the feminine voice on the answering machine was temporarily blocked from my consciousnesses. Even as I gaped an entire gallon of milk rapidly disappeared into my deep red orange shag carpet. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!” I swore before finally looking up to see the red light flashing on my little black box of an answering machine. She'd already hung up, who ever it was had already hung up.