Finley McKay’s Gate

:::Alluvial Mine:::

SPOTTED DOG SUNDAE

The Personality of A Front Door

74f1f1aec503d76fd64ed227dc5394f6.jpgFinley McKay waits on the other side of her splintered, warped and weather-beaten gate.

 The world rushes by Finley, her gate and her home every minute of everyday on a well traveled road lined with trees and traffic lights.

Yet somehow it happens that nobody notices Finley’s gate, or Finley or her deep dark eyes that watch everything but see nothing.

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I could tell you that once upon a time a curious woman named Finley McKay did something dark and evil behind that gate, but that would not be true.

I could say something wicked and restless roams Finley’s gardens or wanders through her home, opening and closing doors but that’s not true either.

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The air in Finley’s home is old and stale. Nothing has moved in her home for years- even the dust in Finley’s home is lifeless and quiet.

Just like Finley herself.

When she wanders through her garden or her home and makes her way to the gate she moves as quiet as a shadow.

She almost looks like a shadow.

Or maybe the light pulls back from Finley and her emptiness and the darkness seeks her out and clings to her, just like the dust.

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Sometimes Finley sleeps, but even when she closes her eyes she can still see the world beyond her gate.

She can see the road, the trees lining the sidewalks, she sees  people on bikes, cats sunning themselves in green yards an squirrels stealing seed from bird feeders.

So Finley gets up from her rest, she wanders to her gate she puts her hand on the latch and she tries to lift it.

And then she draws her hand back.

” It’s not for you Finley Mckay” she says in a voice that sounds like dried autumn leaves being crunched underfoot.

She steps back from her gate, her face a stone mask, her heart silent in her chest, her hands as cold and stiff as the day the funeral director placed them on her chest.

She would like to open her eyes, to see the world once again to lift the latch on her gate and walk to the corner where the park is and sit in the sun or the moonlight and feel the air alive and moving on her skin again.

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Maybe we could do it together.

We could go to where Finley is, we could open the gate and let her out.

She could walk with us.

Again.

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Author: animar64

I write- the rest is filler

3 thoughts on “Finley McKay’s Gate”

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