Kiki Theo

All the Doors are Shut 

(I)
The little girl sits near the bottom of the steps. Her white cotton dress gathers in pools around her feet. The staircase is dark wood, worn smooth and shiny. Behind her, up above, and to the right, a verandah runs across two sides of the courtyard. The courtyard is draped in twilight. Murky. Cool. Silent. Thin shafts of light creep under the front door to her left, like smoke. The wooden shutters looking out onto the street are shut.
 
All the doors leading off the courtyard and the verandah are shut. Siesta time. Everyone is sleeping. A hint of honeysuckle drifts in from the garden. Curls around whispers of rosemary lamb left over from lunch. Faint chirping noise wafts over the cool stone floor. A brown and black cat pads silently towards her. Tufts of fur are missing in patches all along her back. Her yellow eyes glint. The little girl hurries up the stairs.
 
She runs her hand along the carved wooden columns of the balustrade. The courtyard is far below. The cat has disappeared. All the doors are shut. Slowly she walks towards the end of the verandah. The last door. This is the forbidden door. Not allowed to go there. The door is rounded at the top, slightly smaller than the others. There are deep scratches gouged along the bottom. Not allowed to go there. No one is in sight. All the doors are shut. Everyone is sleeping.
 
The little girl looks behind her, and slowly opens the last door. She steps into the bright warm sun. On the roof top, square wooden birdcages stand on long legs like stilts. Not allowed to go there. The wire meshing cage doors have wooden bow-tie handles on the outside. The cages are full of budgies and canaries, finches and parakeets in every size and colour. They chirrup and cheep loudly. Not allowed to go there. She moves from cage to cage opening the doors. The little girl watches the birds fly away. 
 

 (II)
The little girl watches the birds fly away.  She moves from cage to cage opening the doors. Not allowed to go there. They chirrup and cheep. The cages are full of budgies and canaries, finches and parakeets, every size and colour. The wire meshing cage doors have wooden bow-tie handles on the outside. Not allowed to go there. On the roof top, square wooden birdcages stand on long legs like stilts. She steps into the bright warm sun. The little girl looks behind her, and slowly opens the last door.
 
Everyone is sleeping. All the doors are shut. No one is in sight. Not allowed to go there. There are deep scratches gouged along the bottom. The door is rounded at the top, slightly smaller than the others. Not allowed to go there. This is the forbidden door. The last door. Slowly she walks towards the end of the verandah. All the doors are shut. The cat has disappeared. The courtyard is far below. She runs her hand along the carved wooden columns of the balustrade.
 
The little girl hurries up the stairs. Her yellow eyes glint. Tufts of fur are missing in patches all along her back. A brown and black cat pads silently towards her. Faint chirping noise wafts over the cool stone floor. Curls around whispers of rosemary lamb left over from lunch. A hint of honeysuckle drifts in from the garden. Everyone is sleeping. Siesta time. All the doors leading off the courtyard and the verandah are shut.
 
The wooden shutters looking out onto the street are shut. Thin shafts of light creep under the front door to her left, like smoke. Silent. Cool. Murky.  The courtyard is draped in twilight.  Behind her, up above, and to the right, a verandah runs across two sides of the courtyard. The staircase is dark wood, worn smooth and shiny. Her white cotton dress gathers in pools around her feet. The little girl sits near the bottom of the steps.
 

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