My hand was shaking as I sipped at the cup of instant coffee. Hastily made, the near boiling water burnt my mouth and the bitter excess of all the granules I scooped into the cup assaulted what was left of my tongue.
I went to take out the recycling, it piled up so much I couldn’t stack anything more on the waste paper basket we used without everything tumbling down into a clattering mess on the floor.
I propped up the tower of bottles, cans, and cartons as I fumbled for the front door with my free hand. Instead of opening up to the entryway of my block of flats, the door gave way to an open field.
Rolling hills stretched on as far as the eye could see. The horizon was bisected by forest and woodland in the distance and grey mountains behind the haze of atmosphere beyond that.
A gentle breeze tugged at my hair and robe, knocking down a precariously placed juice carton atop the pile. I closed the door, put down the recycling, and opened it again.
The rolling hills were still there. I closed the door again. I dropped down onto my knees and looked under the door best I could. The modern design of these units meant you couldn’t see anything under the doorframe. We’d often get a loud hiss coming from the door when the rangehood was on as the slightest bit of air slipped through into our hermitically sealed flat.
I couldn’t see anything underneath. Light didn’t make it through the miniscule slit under the door, I couldn’t tell if it was open field or hallway on the other side. I depressed the handle and pulled the door open as slowly as I could, pressing my face up against the frame to see what was on the other side as soon as the crack was apparent.
I was like a child watching the light in the fridge go off, waiting for the moment the doorway snapped from dingy apartment block common area to open European field.
It didn’t. I was almost dazzled by the sunlight shining through my door as soon as it opened. I swung the door all the way again, looking at the grass, clouds, and feeling the breeze. I could smell pollen on the air, the earthen scent of lawn, dirt, hear the far off chirping of insects and birds.
I didn’t know what to do, couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I still couldn’t believe it. I dared not take a step through the doorway into that open field, yet I wanted something that could prove it was real.
I plucked a tuft of grass from near the end of my timber floor and slammed the door. Now I sat at my kitchen table, trembling as I sipped my hot bitter coffee, staring at the grass with roots and dirt now in front of me.
I had no idea when this happened to my front door. We had three other doors leading out of our place, I only used the front door when I had to go to the garage. I had no reason to use it since I wasn’t going anywhere.
But now, and I was pretty sure it was real, my front door seemed to be a portal to another world.
I sat there drinking my coffee with a trembling hand, thinking the same thing all people do when driven to desperate extremes from their capitalist circumstances: ‘How can I monetise this?’