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A new story of mine. It is a work in progress and i understand that it is full mistakes. I beg you not to comment on the mistakes only the story. Other than that say what you wish about it, i need all the feedback i can get! Enjoy!


Natheiel's Game

Prolouge
"This would be the hardest part," the thought flickered through his head as he stood before the door, "This always is the hardest part." A burning, that signaled that tears were near, had started in his eyes as he extended his hand to press it flat against the opaque wood of the door, feeling the power that it held move up his arm. He swallowed and stepped closer so that his body almost reasted against the door. He felt tired, so, so tired. This door could end this, if he could bring himself to step through it.
He let himself lean against the door, his hand pressed between his heart and it. His other hand, his left, trailed over the wood, across the hinges, and into nothingness. A harsh laugh barked from his throat, the door, as he had already known, was attached to nothing. He let his hand fall away fron its side and raised it so he could pillow his head on his arm. His eyes, to heavy to hold open, sliped closed. If anyone had dared to venture through the thickness of the trees and came to the edge of the clearing all they would see would be a man, hardly out of boyhood, leaning on a wall of nothingness.
His hand dropped to the knob and the vibrating increased. The knob fit perfectly into his palm.
"All I have to do is turn it," the thought drifted through his tired brain, "I just have to turn it and, for me, this will be over, my journey will be through at last." a click echoed through the silent forest. He steped back as the door swong open, reveling what lay within. His breath caught in his throat when he saw what awaited him. He took a final deep breath of the thick air and steped through the door...

Part One: The Begining of Insainity
Sixteen Years Later...
He felt he was going insain. The thoughts of this weeved in and out of his head untill, if he wasn't already, they would drive him to insainity, if, that is, he wasn't there already. He first felt the insainity creeping into his mind only a week ago, on an ordanary Monday morning, after stepping out his front door and saw the garish, yellow car ideling at the end of his driveway. When he had tryed to approach the car, it had learnched forward and sped down the empty, tree-lined street. At the time he thought little of its appearence and it had almost left his mind until he steped out of Westchester High that afternoon and there it sat again, in plane view of the front doors, at the very edge of the student parkinglot. His blood had run cold at the sight of it and, just as before, it fled when he approached. As the days progressed, the car's precnce grew. Everywhere he went it followed.When he asked those that were around him if they saw it, the responce was the same, a look that questioned his sainity.
On the corner of the street as he walked home, in the parkinglot when he steped out of the market with his aunt, everywhere it seemed to be, never making an attempt to hide. The car was only the first thing that fourced him to look into his sainity. Soon after it's first appearence other, stranger things came to his attion. The new student's strange doodles on her desk and the things she muttered as she drew them, "Follow him..." and "The game...". How the man who sat, reading in the library, looked up from his book every few seconds to look at him. How the same couple could always be seen behind him. And the more he noticed how simmilar those that followed him were. They all had the same sun touched skin and fathomless eyes. They all moved with the unatural grace of a preaditer. Again, when he asked, he was told that he was simply being paranoid. He knew not why he was being followed, only that when the car graced him with its presence or the beings stuck ever close to him icy fear pumped itself through his vains.
Being stalked by people only he noticed as different wasn't what convinced him that his sainity was slipping. It was the dreams. Dark, awful dreams that he always woke from with a cry on his lips. Dreams about a clearing in the middle of a thick forest, and... a door that stood in the middle of it. A door attached to nothing.