She drives up to the old building like she has done every other day for several months.
Turns off the ignition and steps out of the vehicle
As she walks through the automatic doors she wonders at the contrast between modern conveniences and old world antique décor
The building is well over a hundred years of age
And it smells of it
It also smells of paper, tape, business, hopes, dreams, and even devastation
Yes, much passes through this building
She continues on and turns into the first corridor and walks to the very end.
She takes out the key and it feels hard and smooth in her hand
Much like the marble upon which she is standing
She stares at the box her breathing quickening
She inserts the key and twists, thinking to herself that hope is waiting with that little door ajar
But as it turns out hope is just an open wound
Sighing, another little piece of her essence again slowly ebbs out and goes to that place in the building that collects such things
It is what keeps the building strong after all these years
It is what it feeds on
It has been dining on her for months now
Soon there will be naught left of her to consume
She closes her eyes and secures the door, putting the key back into her pocket
Over time disappointment has been slowly becoming the scabs and scars that cover her
Also poisoning her blood
However despair, despair is the antidote
It has her returning every other day, week after week, month after month
As she exits she smells a faint hint of decay and hears a whisper emanate from the building
Softly it says, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here, If you have already abandoned hope, please disregard this notice.”
Ah…but she is already aware that there is no hope, no escape from the never ending torment
But that is ok, she thinks, she likes it here. ~M