SO FEW SHALL HARVEST THE WHEAT/ Cheryl Lorenc It was as though the door had always been open. I moved just inside the short cubicle of hallway. I leaned back pushing the vaguely outlined door shut. My hand gestured behind me and grasped the old handle. It moved just barely in both directions. The cold slap of sobering reality shook my confused senses. The door was locked behind me. My eyes searched ahead of me. Frustrating unpenetrable blackness was my nearest and farthest companion. I comforted myself by listening. I hushed all that was alive in me so that I might be able to hear. I silenced my heart so that I might hear even better. I heard nothing. I listened intently to emptiness for a long controlled time. Then mechanically a primitive instinct reached out like a growing willow tree to try to relay by touch some aspect of my new environment. To the right, just inches from me was a solid icy smooth wall. Inches to the left stood another smooth wall. I reached carefully above me. Nothing. Finally, I edged my right foot a few inches ahead of me finding the edge of whatever I was standing on. I feel to my knees and leaned forward. In a matter of seconds I had spanned the horizon of my environment from wall to wall. With one hand on the doorknob for leverage, I reached my right hand ahead of me. Nothing. I waved and grasped frantically beyond hope and still there was nothing. Blood drained from my face. I gritted my teeth, but I could still taste the cold salty sweat that was running down my face. I stood up. My knees were rubbery and sagged a-gainst each other forcing me to lean against the cold wall for support. "Why hadn't anyone told me what this would be like?" Everything I'd ever done was to get me a step closer to the door and now. I could stand it no longer. I turned on the door like some maddened half-crazed demon, kicking; shrieking; cursing; and pounding. I wanted back. I wished the door open. I cursed it open. I begged it open. I vowed to tear it open, beating upon the clammy hard wood until my arms would no longer throw my bruised hands against it. Self-inflicted pain singed my every movement. But it could not dispel nor replace the crawling fear that was now possessing me. I began shriveling like one desiring to be smaller. I fell to the floor of my bar-less cell. A great fist of fear lunged at my throat. I was incapable of anything except overpowering grief. Tears in a soundless stream washed my face. "What am I to do?" I would never have wanted the door open if I would not be here crying with my fist in my mouth if if I had been told. I jumped to my feet in a final aggressive act against my hopeless emptiness. But I had gotten up too fast. An erupting whirring sound filled my head. Like some macabre "Alice in Wonderland" I began to fall into the black nothingness in front of me. A piece of me died. A piece of me refused undetermined hopelessness and fear for the last time. The rest of me jarred painfully many times as I realized I was falling down a long flight of stairs. I landed heavily and rolled until I was upended and stopped by another wall. There I sat. Nothing made any sense. I fullfistedly began to rub my eyes. And (continued on next page) 43