rock/fist/paper/scissors || sid & fred || iv.
Walls of the basement.
Walls of the closet.
Walls of the cabin.
Walls in her mind.
Then a brick wall, and then nothing.
Somewhere in the wake of the closet door's sharp slam, a string of words drifted across her mind. I knew it was a trap. I knew we shouldn'tve gone for the key.
But Sid was frantic and shouting, and she was all used up, so she let the thought float away. It was too late, anyway.
Her head fell against the closet door with a muffled thunk. "Sid." Her voice was thinner than air. Her fingers found the old rusted doorknob. She could feel it rattling in her hand as Sid wrestled violently with it from the other side. She summoned the last inklings of strength left in her and tried to twist it--once, twice, thrice. Her hands were raw. It wouldn't budge.
"Sid." She collapsed against the tattered but impenetrable door, sliding down to her knees, forehead pressed to the wood. "Sid. Please stop yelling."