The Door

by Equimorto

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The door was with her. Always, at that point. Wherever she went, whatever she was doing there. It followed her, consistently. And still, it managed to hide from everyone else.

And at that point, she didn't care anymore. Really. So what if the door wanted to make her look crazy? She wouldn't give in. She'd gotten used to it. Always there in every room, always at the corner of her eye when she was moving, always ready to greet her when she looked up from anything.

It was just the way things were, at that point. The door was, and there was nothing to be done about it. Just accept it, and live with it. Go to sleep to the sight of it, and see it when she woke up, and see it behind her in every mirror. That was her life at that point. And it was fine.

Comments

[KvAT]

Fear is tiresome. At some point you will run out of it.