The Down

With every step he takes a door closes.

He staggers forward, barely putting the effort in to walk as the sound of wood slamming on wood and bolts clicking into place encompasses him. The still air surrounding him warps and bends and creaks and groans as he pushes at it, giving no heed to his futile march. The stench of stagnation leaks in through the cracks his apathetic movements are able to make in the wall ahead of him, his eyes dimly focused on a blur ahead through the impassable air. Another door? A window? The light at the end flickers, morphing, changing from a dream to an ambition; a mirage of hope fading into a stained glass rendition of lion and lamb, each growing more distant the closer he gets.

Another step and another door slams next to him, the clambering rasp of a metal bar sliding into place like a nail hammered into a coffin.

Frustration with every movement. Desperation with every door closed. Regret with every staggering step that doesn’t lead off this downward path.

The depths of nowhere are boundless, hollow and calling his name.

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