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Panting, the man sprints down the steps,
swinging around just to slam the cellar door shut. He takes a millisecond to
catch his breath, hands on knees, bent double. Only now does he notice his new
surroundings, the new world he has burst in upon. A stretch of white, Heaven
forbid, splays out in front of him, an everlasting road into nothingness.
(O,
so familiar)
Staggering on weak legs, he makes his way
down the remainder of the steps and sets his feet gingerly on the(unknown ,O so forbidding)
white floor, an abyss of purity. He tests
it mistrustingly, taps the floor just as Peter did when Jesus asked him to walk
on water. Finally he makes his way down, onto the(abyss)
floor, and advances cautiously, his fading
breath forgotten, into the desert ahead, no less. White, white, white light
surrounds him, glaring furiously out of the walls, the floor, the shining
tiles. Had he been in a more aware state of mind, he would have pondered, for a
millisecond, where the light was coming from, where was the light source, but
that was furthest from his mind, as such.
His mind was absorbed by more important
things.
One such thing was the familiarity of his
new world. He is no stranger to this place. He has visited this(abyss, abyss)
room before, in his darkest nightmare, in
which he wakes up shrieking like a banshee, his bearings lost, his state of
normalcy, his organized, sane life ripped to shreds in his face, and he faces
nothing but a blinding white, white, white, and nothingness. He runs, in his
dream, from one wall to the next, bends to the floor and punches it, hoping for
a hollow tile, but to no avail. Screaming bloody murder, he rages away in the
small, white, unknown space and
confronts his most feared demons, those of his normal life. Normal?
He stops in mid-stride. Reaching up with a
shaking hand, he pinches his cheek, hard. An icicle of pain shoots through his
face, yes, he is awake. Wide awake, in fact, and now fully aware of the events
spinning on its axis in this world. White, white, white light continues glaring
in his face, and he sees it not, for the human eye cannot see white light, yet
he feels it, the feeling of the(unknown)
light on his face.
He trudges on, and spies in the distance,
lo! a door! Praises the gods of this universe! the man declares, and shoots
forward recklessly, his past queries on this new world forgotten. It is
careless to run with such zest, but in this world, the man makes it just fine
to the door. Now his breath is a labored panting, and he is aware of a stitch
in his side. He slides to the floor at the door’s feet, if doors have feet, and
squints heavenward, the bespectacled man befuddled by the immensity of the
door. No, it is because he is on his knees, and he grabs the door knob, and
pulls himself up. Now he sizes the door up, eyeing it guardedly. Warily he
moves, and carefully, he stretches out a blood stained hand, for the first time
noticing the long streak of red on his arm, and turns the door knob...
to be continued.
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