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The Black Door down the hall.


Keanumoreira

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(Just something I came with together one day, hope you guys like it. Suggestions towards improvement is welcome, I'm always trying to write better, but please no trolling.)

 

They say that a black door sits still down the hall. It stands solo, alone, devoid of life, harboring dark secrets. Its owners accompany those curious and relentless past its guarding exterior, revealing these secrets, yet concealing them from wandering eyes on the corresponding side of the corridor. Innumerable amounts of oblivious and unfortunate souls wander inside with the promise of good fortune, yet they never return. An intimidating clerk sits behind her fortress of standing steel and glass, sitting at her mahogany desk, carelessly playing a digital solitaire, the perfect match for her charcoal heart. Her eyes fill to the brim with hate and disgust, as she peers into your inner sanctum, shattering it, bending it, twisting it like an enraged kitten with a ball of yarn; dismantling your sanity. Your cheery face dissipates, and you don't know why, but this unimaginable depression comes over you, forcing you to drag your feet to the others in the corner of isolation. Every chair there is an exact replica of the one before, a ditto, a twin, a clone, a copy. Every small detail, every strand of fiber, every atom the same, all sown together in a web of chains, intended by their creators to be like the other, to behave like the other. It soon occurs to you, hitting you like a bucket of bricks, that they dominate the environment, they dominate you. To them you are their caramel in their candy, you're the frosting on their cake, you serve them, you're their puppet, their toy, you move as they want you to, place you where they want you to go, and no matter how much you plead, no matter how much or how far you run, no matter how loud you scream, it’s too late, you won't be heard, you won't be found, you will never be rescued. Then your name is echoed across the hall, you don't want to get up, but you must, you have no choice, no control anymore. You slowly lift yourself from the hard, rough chair, and reluctantly seek out the door. As you approach, it becomes even more of a challenge to imagine a safer scenario; you forget all that's present as you slip into a state of fear. You put one foot in front of the other, but even these simple tasks too are forgotten. The lights overhead gracefully swift from side to side, flickering on and off, conjuring up sounds of high pitch nothingness, an annoying rattle in your ears, the perfect foreshadowing moment. Finally you turn the broken knob, look behind you, knowing you will never return. You close it and banish the light. You disappear from reality, erased from every record, claimed by the black door down the hall.

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These words appeared to me while I was reading your beautiful text. :happy:

Thank you Fiffo, but what about you, have you considered writing in Druids garden? Its tough, but very fun.

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I have a story in my oven... But it is not yet complete, a story I promised to some Little Fairy... It's been six months maybe more I work on it. :sweat:
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Writing isn't hard until you have to go with it. I'm really good at writing passages like this one, but stories are unforgiving, and takes a lot of creativity to do it, but I have the will to accomplish such feats.
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