Fortnightly Writing Competition: SLIDING DOORS

[brushfe]

SLIDING DOORS

We've all had those fork-in-the-road moments that would have drastically changed the course of our lives. From bigger choices like travel, job interviews, or high school dates, to the more subtle events like missing an elevator, spilling a coffee, or holding the door for someone. Looking down the road not taken, we can look into another dimension, and see a whole other version of the life we lead.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write a short story about a fork in the road moment, and the effect it has on a character. Maybe it's a nostalgic reflection in our later years; or a two-part story that explores both outcomes; or a quantum mindbender where both paths are taken simultaneously. 

Voting will only focus on the story you enjoyed the most (if we have enough entries, we can vote for 1st and 2nd place).

RULES
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No minimum word count
No genre restrictions
Deadline: Friday, July 11, 2025 at 11:59pm EST

Good luck to you all!


****Note this is my first time writing a challenge, so please let me know if I can improve it or have missed anything!

[Mandle]

Bloody brilliant theme, well presented!

[brushfe]

Bloody brilliant theme, well presented!

That's a relief to hear - there were so many good ones in the archive!

I was hoping to find a theme that could also inspire a game over or Mags entry. Maybe a new use of the New Kid button in Maniac Mansion

[Mandle]

First draft of mine done. Will let it simmer a few days and then get it ready to post.

[Sinitrena]

True to theme, we'll vote in two ways:

• [...]
• The story you think would be even greater if it was written in a different genre (name the genre and the benefits you see).

I'm not sure that's a good premisse for voting, because it basically asks the voter to reward someone for not doing a great job - A story set in the perfect genre (no matter how 'genre' is defined in this context, which is also a question), perfect in everything, would receive less votes than a flawed story that would have worked better in a different genre.
Honsetly, I don't think it's much of a problem, but better I point it out now than during voting.

-----------------------------------------------

Oh, and I also have an entry for y'all:

The Visit is Scheduled for Today

Spoiler

The door closed behind him, slowly but surely. He always loved her level-headedness, her calming influence. And so he turned around one last time, but only in his mind. He hesitated when he walked away, or so he told himself. In truth, his steps were fast, sure, direct, strong. Later, yes later, the hesitation was in his thoughts, the uncertainty. But not then. In his memory, his hands brushed over the door knob one last time, his eyes were glued to the smooth paint as he walked away, he stumbled slightly over the uneven stones of the pathway. In his memory, he wanted to return, in his memory, he didn't want to go.

In truth... But what is truth?

The car keys did slip from his hands, the wheels clipped the curb, that much is true. But was it anger on his mind or were it tears in his eyes? Later, well... We know what he thought later, we know what he told himself, over and over again, until he believed it himself. When he drove too fast away from his wife, from his kids, his family, towards a new wife, new kids, a new family, he did not spare a thought for what he left, only for what was to come.

Or maybe there were some thoughts for his daughter, for his son. He'd call them often, he told himself. But what is often? He called them regularly, but what is regular? Once a year? Twice?

And the years passed. And for years he did not look back. He did not go back. He forgot the yellow house with the roses among a sea of pebbles in the front garden, the rickety shed he never finished to built in the back, the abysmal pink shower curtain his wife, Lilly-Anne, loved, the antique bookshelf he bought at a flee market far under value and still never sold...

Many years passed and life went on, a normal life, a happy life, just like any other, with his wife and his kids, two boys this time, until she died and the twins married, had children of their own, a life of their own.

And he was close to death.

His children knew as much, all four of them. And today they were scheduled to visit. His two boys came, with their wives and his grandchildren, with flowers and a book he would never even start to read, they embraced him, kissed him, said goodbye, though they did not admit it yet, not to themselves, not to him.

And his son and his daughter from his first marriage? They did come, or they did not. Who would be able to tell? Not him, for he met ME.

My visit was also scheduled for today. It always was, from the day of his birth to this day, and it never changed, not during his car accident, not when he nearly drowned as a child. It was always today.

How does he see me? Who would know? Not even I know how I seem to you, but here I am. It is time for me to take you to a world far from this, strange from this. I am the guide in the shadow, the path forward where no path goes back. Reach for my hand and I shall lead you, bring you forward to the world beyond.

(My hesitation is not visible to him. It is not true either, but what would he care?)

Or, I could give you one last choice, one last chance to change your regrets. I only offer one. One choice, one chance, one decision. Now and in the past. Choose now, and choose in what once was. Change one regret in your life.

(I do not tell him why I offer him this choice. Why would he need to know? Or that I offer it to all.)

It is clear in your mind from the moment the thought first settles what you want to change and so you do. You return back in time, through years and decades, through lives lived and lives forgotten, to decisions and memories, until he last stands in front of a different door and the words spoken before were so similar to before, yet so very different.

The door closed behind him, fast, heavy, thrown in anger. A sigh left his lips, he knew it was going to be that way. He loved her temperament, her spirit, but when he walked down the steps of the front garden he didn't look back. Later, he told himself he did. He believed it even. In his memory, this visit merged with all the others, just as secret, just as passionate, but passionate differently. Lust was replaced by anger, love by hate. He walked away so fast he knocked over the old garden gnome. In his memory, he stopped and set it upright again, in his memory, tears fell down on the bleached out plastic and the gnome did not roll into the streets that day. In his memory, he wanted to return, in his memory, he didn't want to go.

In truth... Well, who knows?

The car did drive over the gnome, shattered it under its heavy wheels, that much is true, but not for him. His memories were of regret, of the things lost, of the things that would never be. Later, that is. Later he remembered his hesitation, the questions he asked himself then, but in truth... Not then, not when he drove away from his mistress, pregnant with twins, when he drove back to his old family, his old life, his two children, the son and daughter he loved.

He'd visit, he'd said, had said so to his lover. And so he did. At some point. At some time. He visited. But not too often, not always, not ever from some time on.

And the years passed. And for years he hardly ever looked back, he almost forgot his fling. He hardly remembered the wild night that broke the bed frame, the night he told his wife he had to work longer, almost forgot the young strong tree he planted in the garden, the green wallpaper for the nursery they still picked out together and that Meredith loved, the drawing he made of her and that she sold off many years later...

Many years passed and life went on, a normal life, a happy life, just like any other, with his wife and his kids, the boy and the girl, until she died and the kids married, had children of their own, a life of their own.

And he was closer to ME.

So close was he on the day their visit was scheduled, that he embraced his son and his daughter one last time. He kissed his grandchildren, he laughed with them. They had brought flowers and a book he wouldn't read, they said goodbye and they knew it was for the last time.

And the twins, did they also come? Who would be able to tell? Well, I, but why should I? What does it matter when he would never know, for he did not live to see it, for his visit with me was scheduled for today.

And so we met again, and so we meet again. I step towards your bed and look down on you, old fragile man, with so many regrets and so many choices, so many paths before you once, and now none.

I granted you a boon once, many years ago or now, today, in this moment. What is the difference? And you took it, as all of you do. You do not remember yet – and now you do, as I grant it to you, right before I take you from this world, take you through the great desert of the unknown, towards the black gates and the fields beyond. I shall be your guide and your leader, the path and the question, the stone and the walking staff.

So I ask you now, which memories shall I take, which life do you wish to remember, which decision is your final one, for it is the last in this world and the irrevocable one.

I hear your cries, your begging. Both of them, you want. Both paths, both women, all at the same time. But both paths was not our deal, both women never an option. There is no third option, no convenient way out, no escape. You were always going to leave one, you were always going to leave one life behind. It is in your nature, in your very being. That, I cannot change, I would not change. I just offered you the option to take one decision again in your life. A single one. A generous offer, as you know.

Does the path you humans take ever feel completely right? Which memories shall I take?

Or should the reader decide? Lilly-Anne or Meredith? Maybe you should look through their decisions, their regrets.

The door closed behind him, and she stared at it for a long time. She had always loved his steadiness, his clear path in life...

[close]

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I have a vague second idea in mind, but I'll probably not finish it, so don't wait for it.

[brushfe]

Incredible work! What a powerful picture of the human condition. There's so much to think about here. This feels like a story that needs to be read every few years in preparation for later life. Or maybe a more immediate lesson?

This part will certainly stay with me for a long time...

Spoiler

Does the path you humans take ever feel completely right? Which memories shall I take?

[close]

Thank you for sharing this!

And you raise a great point about the voting. That was an attempt to have a "themed" vote, where we think about what would happen if the writer took another route — but it's unnecessary at best and, as you point out, destructive at worst. I'll strike it from the assignment post.

[brushfe]

@Sinitrena you've made a hard act to follow, but here's another entry!

Pace Car

Spoiler

The first I reckoned it was, of course, the highway. The very same highway that you surely know me from now.

But back then, it was the afternoon, and traffic crawled. I was in the left lane. They teach you it's the fast lane, but since they teach everybody that, it's the slow lane. The right lane seemed to be the best one, but I knew this old song too. Once I get over there, the left lane picks right up. So no sir.

Let's put a little money on it, I said to my car. That plumber's van is passing us now—a dollar says we get to 89 overpass first. That's two miles out. We jockeyed the whole way. I took a quarter-mile lead right at the end, but by some miracle, the right line opened up, and it was a Kentucky dead heat. We hit the overpass at the exact same time.

At the time, it wasn't as strange as I grew to think it to be. I was just pissed at the luck of it all. So I did it again—same traffic jam, same plumber's van, same bet to the next overpass. This one was a good seven miles off, but my mind didn't wander once from the position of that van. At times it was long gone, at others I left it well behind. We were all over, changing lanes, speeding. And there's no way he knew we were even racing. But knowing how you know me, maybe you've already guessed the end. It was another damn tie. Despite all we did, we were under the same inch of bridge at the same damn second.

By the time I got into town, I was starting to sweat. I pulled into the Whataburger for my supper, but I just sat in the truck trying to reason out what all that just was. Either my brain was too small or the forces at work were too big. So I put it aside and walked in to order. That little chapter of peace lasted about a minute.

Sure enough, there were two cashiers working, and two lines of people waiting to order from them. This was not the day for a choice like this. So I waited, til one line was just about empty and the other was three deep, and joined the short one. The last guy in the other line and I stepped up at once. Even our orders got done together. I watched the cashier hand me my ticket, then slide the same little slip to him.

This went on and on. If I went for gas and found four empty gas pumps... I pick one, and three other trucks would pull up to the others. Even if I spent ten minutes cleaning out the truck or twenty minutes reading magazines in the store, we'd all drive off at the same time. And then part of it became clear as crystal. If I had to make a choice, it was made very plain my decisions did not matter one bit.

So what the hell is this? Some curse? A sign from God? Forty-eight years at church and nobody ever told what a sign looks like. But even then what's it mean? And what about all the others? Are they asking the same thing I am right now? Are they losing their minds? It's been weeks. Weeks. It ain't about everything all lined up all the time anymore. I just want a goddamn answer.

The best I can do is destiny. It's real and I've seen it. There is a divine, there is a plan, and you got no choice. What else could it all mean?

Time to find out.

I'm calling you out, God. If anyone else is listening to this, there's another recording on here with all my funeral wishes. And for the record, I'm picking a new pace car. There's an old white Toyota in the right lane, and an overpass ahead. Let's see if both of us hit the wall at the same time.

[close]

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For anyone else looking to add their own story, the contest closes in five days!

[Baron]

I've found my inspiration - stand by.