He looked without blinking at the locked door. It was a heavy metallic door made of steel plates which he imagined would weigh over a hundred tonnes. It was unlikely that anyone could ever break into it. There was no visible lock on the door and neither did it have any handles. It didnt seem like a designer's work for there were no decorations on the door. The creator of the door had not even bothered to give it some color, and it stood there pale and cold. There was a clock next to the door which was supposed to show the time it would open, but the display wasnt functioning. It seemed a neglected sight. Nevertheless, the door served its purpose of guarding the passage. It was widely believed that the passage led to a beautiful place with green meadows, warm sunlight, a light blue sky and purple, snow-capped mountains. The people on the other side were heard of as being a merry and friendly folk. There was a time when it would open, but he did not know when. There was no time mentioned anywhere, nor did he know the person who opened it. With his heart racing, he waited for it to open.
The world around him seemed to be falling apart. The earth under his feet had begun to crack. There was a huge storm coming towards him, and he did not know where to run. His heartbeat had quicked to such an extent that he feared thathis heart would burst. Getting through the door seemed to be his only option. He tried all tricks he knew to open it, but none seemed to work. Everyone he spoke to, told him that the door would not open. He did know a few who had managed to get through it, but he had been out of touch with them for a long time. There was smoke all around and he was finding it hard to breathe. The night had become chilly and he was scared. He thought that he heard sounds of wild animals out on the hunt. He prayed for the door to open and allow him to escape.
Somewhere he had heard that the door would open to those brave at heart, but he could not gather enough courage. His senses were numbed, and his memory had faded.
His clothes were old and in tatters, and his hair disheveled. His pockets were torn, and whatever he had in them was no more with him. All he carried was a piece of mirror in his left hand which had cut him severely. He could not remember his name or where he came from. All he remembered was a wise old bearded man with silver hair who he used to have conversations with. He did not remember the wise man ever mentioning to him about this place or the door. He tried to recollect how he happened to come about this place, but in vain. He only had a vague memory of asking directions on the way to a feminine form. He wasnt sure now whether she was some witch sent by the devil, or he had understood incorrectly.
He did not feel bad about it though, since he had lost his ability of feeling any emotion. All that he felt was fear, as a result of which, the door would not open. He was aware of the coming storm and the smoke was smothering him. He wished that the door would open and allow him through to the other side. But it was not to be so. With longing in his eyes, he looked without blinking at the locked door.
The world around him seemed to be falling apart. The earth under his feet had begun to crack. There was a huge storm coming towards him, and he did not know where to run. His heartbeat had quicked to such an extent that he feared thathis heart would burst. Getting through the door seemed to be his only option. He tried all tricks he knew to open it, but none seemed to work. Everyone he spoke to, told him that the door would not open. He did know a few who had managed to get through it, but he had been out of touch with them for a long time. There was smoke all around and he was finding it hard to breathe. The night had become chilly and he was scared. He thought that he heard sounds of wild animals out on the hunt. He prayed for the door to open and allow him to escape.
Somewhere he had heard that the door would open to those brave at heart, but he could not gather enough courage. His senses were numbed, and his memory had faded.
His clothes were old and in tatters, and his hair disheveled. His pockets were torn, and whatever he had in them was no more with him. All he carried was a piece of mirror in his left hand which had cut him severely. He could not remember his name or where he came from. All he remembered was a wise old bearded man with silver hair who he used to have conversations with. He did not remember the wise man ever mentioning to him about this place or the door. He tried to recollect how he happened to come about this place, but in vain. He only had a vague memory of asking directions on the way to a feminine form. He wasnt sure now whether she was some witch sent by the devil, or he had understood incorrectly.
He did not feel bad about it though, since he had lost his ability of feeling any emotion. All that he felt was fear, as a result of which, the door would not open. He was aware of the coming storm and the smoke was smothering him. He wished that the door would open and allow him through to the other side. But it was not to be so. With longing in his eyes, he looked without blinking at the locked door.
