Clearer Heads and a Locked Door
The foolish boy had locked himself in his room. So. Consider.
It’s hard to think in the moment of what would make this better, so instead what should I avoid doing? What will make the situation clearly worse? Charging in without a plan, doing nothing. Well, check those ideas right off, I’m quite clearly not planning on doing either of those, judging by the increasingly frenzied pacing outside the closed (probably locked?) door.
Is the door locked? Should I try the handle? No, no, I should come up with a plan before even attempting to enter the room. Maybe I should– are those footsteps coming down the hall mine echoing, or is someone else here? I stop for a moment, allowing my pacing and thoughts to slow. Yes, someone’s coming.
Is he still in there? that someone gestures out, largely enough that I can clearly see from a distance. I glance back at the door, as if expecting it to fly open the second it is mentioned. It doesn’t, and I look back to the approaching figure, who I can now identify as the boy’s older sibling.
I nod, and—quickly as my limited abilities will allow me—relate the series of childish escalations that led to the locked door ahead of us. They sigh, the sound filling the quiet corridor. Thank you for getting me, I can handle this. I should probably tell them that I wasn’t the one that called them, but they’ve already turned towards the door, knocking a simple but distinct pattern into it. I memorize it without thinking: three quick knocks, two longer but lighter, one kick at the door that is either the end of the pattern or an expression of annoyance.
I suppose I did end up doing nothing, I realize as I turn away. Well, clearer heads than mine can handle it. I only make it a few corridors away, just out of line of sight of that doorway before I put my fist through the wall.
It’s hard to think in the moment of what would make this better, so instead what should I avoid doing? What will make the situation clearly worse? Charging in without a plan, doing nothing. Well, check those ideas right off, I’m quite clearly not planning on doing either of those, judging by the increasingly frenzied pacing outside the closed (probably locked?) door.
Is the door locked? Should I try the handle? No, no, I should come up with a plan before even attempting to enter the room. Maybe I should– are those footsteps coming down the hall mine echoing, or is someone else here? I stop for a moment, allowing my pacing and thoughts to slow. Yes, someone’s coming.
Is he still in there? that someone gestures out, largely enough that I can clearly see from a distance. I glance back at the door, as if expecting it to fly open the second it is mentioned. It doesn’t, and I look back to the approaching figure, who I can now identify as the boy’s older sibling.
I nod, and—quickly as my limited abilities will allow me—relate the series of childish escalations that led to the locked door ahead of us. They sigh, the sound filling the quiet corridor. Thank you for getting me, I can handle this. I should probably tell them that I wasn’t the one that called them, but they’ve already turned towards the door, knocking a simple but distinct pattern into it. I memorize it without thinking: three quick knocks, two longer but lighter, one kick at the door that is either the end of the pattern or an expression of annoyance.
I suppose I did end up doing nothing, I realize as I turn away. Well, clearer heads than mine can handle it. I only make it a few corridors away, just out of line of sight of that doorway before I put my fist through the wall.
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