The Pale Door

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 20:58:43 -

The Pale Door

The door was white. Not the bright white of fresh paint, but the pale, sickly white of old bone. It stood alone in the field. No house. No frame. Just the wood, rising from the frozen earth like a tooth from a jaw. I had seen it for three days. It waited. I am Elias. I walk. My feet hurt. The cold is a living thing. It bites. It pulls. I am a man who speaks to things that do not answer. I am a...

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