Open

I entered an open door.

What's so special about that?

I was driving a car, whose make I couldn't figure out, but I could still tell it was large, much too large for it to be able to fit through that door. Then it expanded and contracted magically, like a cartoon Herbie, pushing itself through little by little. When we finally got through, I looked back. The door, no, the entire wall had disappeared. In its place was a magnificent garden with oversize santanas, overflowing thickets of bougainvillas and sampaguitas twining around cherubic bird feeders, while raspberry tarts hung in bunches from tall, golden trees. A flock of silver sparrows with human faces, most of them my evil relatives', flew over my car, spattering my windshield with shooting-star-shaped shit.