The Pale Door
The door is white. It has always been white. You stand before it. The wood is rough. It scratches your palm. You do not pull. You push. It does not move. You push harder. Your breath comes in short gasps. The air smells of damp earth. It smells of iron. It smells of old paper. You are tired. You are so tired. The house stands behind you. It is a large house. It has many windows. They are dark....
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