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DOORS
A short story by Andy

Hello, what’s this? A door? How odd.

Thoughts like these were not uncommon many years ago, before people were educated in the ways of doors. Now, however, it is most irregular to ever meet a single person who has not yet been introduced to their opening and closing delights. And so, it was an interesting happening for myself, when I met such a person.

It was several months ago, and I was travelling through the Gobi Desert on a camel that my father had bought for me with money won in a spelling competition. I had named the camel “Emmentalle”, and together we set off from Grimsby (where my father lives) to explore new frontiers. Having made a large journey already, Emmentalle was naturally rather tired by the time we reached the Desert, and sadly he died just as we were about to reach an oasis.

Never one to pass up an opportunity for free food, I cut Emmentalle’s leg off and planted it as a tribute to my deceased companion, and dragged the rest of his carcass towards the lake. It was whilst washing the blood and excrement from his slowly decomposing anus that I noticed a small man of Japanese origin cowering in the bushes like a tiny Japanese man.

I should point out that I have extensive experience at dealing with Japanese men, and so I did as I always have done before, and ran at him screaming “Wooga wooga wooga!” with a slight Irish accent. As I suspected, this had the effect of making him bolt in the opposite direction to that which I coming from. In other words he ran away. I tried my hardest to catch him before the desert voles ate him, but he eluded capture and was out of sight within minutes, and I can only guess at his fate. I think it might have been the voles though.

Upon returning from the fringe of the oasis to the corpse of my camel, I smelled the air (as I tend to do on occasion) and noticed a pungent whiff of onion and staples. Clearly this is not a smell to which many things are associated, but as I am a man of much experience and knowledge I immediately knew of it’s significance. I did, however, nothing about it, for I was busy with skinning the camel and did not wish to engage in a debate with anyone at that time.

Nightfall arrived just as the final shreds of sinew were torn from Emmentalle’s now useless body, and so with the task of defiling him complete I ventured once more into the desert. Luckily at just that moment a passing ice-cream salesman was passing while selling ice-cream, so I hopped on to his knee and asked for a ride back to the edge of the desert. He agreed, and on the way we had a conversation in which he told me that he had never seen a door before.