musings

The hall is long and dark. The doors on either side closed. A window at one end open, a few rays from the last breath of the sun shining dimly on the untiled concrete floor. Not much can be seen. It matters not if the eyes are not open. The scene is the same. Everytime. A few steps ahead. No change. The same feeling of a long, dark path ahead. No sign of the distance shortening.

A hand reaches towards the door, to knock I presume. It stops just close, barely touching the surface of the old, painted wooden door. It takes a little while to realize that the hand is my own. A couple steps more. The window at the far end seems darker now. The last rays gone.