The Day Of The Door

His alarm went off early the next morning and he groaned as he got up to turn it off. He was just starting to fall asleep. He barely remembered the night before, and he was as tired as a kid could be. He struggled as he slowly forced himself out of bed and to his closet to get dressed.

I woke up the next morning in my clothes. I fell asleep, pen in hand. I rose up slowly out of my bed groggily. I gathered up my papers that were scattered all around my bedroom floor.

“Yes of course.” I said very quickly following behind as he walked and lead me to the tent.

He heard Sterling slam the door to the room and begin to talk to someone outside. After a moment of so the door opened again. There was a brief pause before the door slammed shut again and footsteps began to approach.

Now, the first thing I needed to do was to fix my bedroom doorknob. It hadn’t been closing properly or locking for a while. A quick trip to Osh did the trick. That was easy. Next up- clean my room, which currently looked like a hurricane just whooshed by. I dove into my bed and started grabbing random shirts that had accumulated. The soft mattress felt so good, I had to take a breather. And of course,

At six a.m. I tumbled out of bed at the sudden sound of my alarm clock. I’m never ready for it when it happens. I rolled off the bed, hitting the floor and as I steadily got up to

Amber started her morning the way she always did. She rolled over in bed to shut off her alarm clock that now shined a red light showing 9:38 a.m. Most would consider this sleeping in, but for Amber it was just another day. She got out of bed, slipped on her slippers and a sweater, and headed out the door to grab her morning coffee from a little shop down the street.

“‘Where are we, sir?’ The captain exhaled. ‘ In an insane asylum.’ It was night. The large hall lay quiet and dimly illuminated by hidden light sources in the transparent walls. The four Earth Men sat around a wooden table, their bleak heads bent over their whispers. On the floors, men and women lay huddled. There were little stirs in the dark corners, solitary men or women gesturing their hands. Every half-hour one of the captain’s men would try the silver door and would return to the table ‘ Nothing doing, sir. We’re locked in proper sir.’ They think we’re insane, sir?’ ‘ Quite. That’s why there was no hullabaloo to welcome us. They merely tolerated what, to them, must

He landed his arms and hands onto the top of the desk and bent over it heavily, without glancing at me. He seemed too weak for the ability to speak and I asked as few questions as I could for his purpose. His hair, which resembled the ebony of a dark oak tree swung low across his face from the perspective of him that I had. I stood silently nearer the door than he but also closer to the man than the door, about more than in the middle, here I spoke. “Would you not be more comfortable on a couch, to cushion and rest your body, Sir?” his appearance when he spoke was rather brusque but his voice of a measured gentleness. “Thank you madam, I do envy the couch for its comfort if, of course I am of no ill-will bother to you nor your furniture”.

Every morning, my mom’s alarm clock rang promptly at 4:40 AM. The church we were residing in at the time, was too far from all of our schools, which meant an earlier wake up time. My mom and my two younger siblings would slump out of our tiny blue beds and manage to muster a sleepy walk to our blue storage crates that we kept our possessions in. We would go into the public bathroom that we had to share with three other families to get dressed and cleaned up for the day.

In the present article, the author investigates how the domestic practice of building the doors and thresholds had an impact on the mortuary practice and ritual behavior during the Viking Age. The doors in the present investigation form as a metaphor of transition, transformation and liminality. The author proposes that the ritualized door has three main function such as it created a connection between the dead and living. Secondly, it constitutes boundaries between the two worlds and finally the creation of spaces between i.e. the dead is neither in the contemporary world nor in the dead’s world it is somewhere in between and the doorway represents that between-ness. The observation of the significance of the doors and as a ritual instrument

James came home from school one day and plopped himself down on the coach, as usual, when he sat down he reached out to the coffee table to grab the remote.

In the Novel, “Chronicle of a Death Foretold,” by Gabriel Garcia, a nameless narrator describes a murder that had happened twenty-seven years ago in his village in Columbia. The story starts with the victim, Santiago Nasar leaving his front door early on a rainy Monday morning to see the Bishop at the docks. Only an hour later he is “carved up like a pig” on the very stoop of the door he had left from. Throughout the rest of the novel the story as to why and who killed Santiago is revealed. Garcia uses many motifs and symbols through the course of this story, including doors/architecture. Doors and architecture provide a connection to the rest of society, and through that, doors are a gateway for characterization, destiny, and social

Larry Collins walked into the house, jiggling the door a bit before it finally opened. He threw the keys onto an old box of take out, the apartment in disarray because of his current work situation. He went over to his dog, a trusty golden retriever of 13 years. He gave the dog a pat, and stretched out on the couch, laying his laptop next to him. He found the remote to his television and turned the machine on, wanting to relax after a thirteen hour day at the office. The television came to life, and Larry sat back, typing the final email he had to for the day.

Verifying the alarm clock was set for the 12th time before finally comfortable enough to go to bed, the thought of awaking to a burning house prompted him to go verify the stove was off. He didn’t think that he had used the stove that day, and he