Hall of Infinite Doors
You open the fire door. It looks quite common, but has a fair amount of weight to it. Pulling it open, you feel a burst of heat. Looking back you think you see flames spiraling toward you. Taking a moment to assess the situation you think- "gee, fire door- hope it works" and move into a narrow stairwell pulling the door shut behind you. You rest your hand against the cool door, and wonder if the hall beyond has been destroyed. Not willing to risk a singed fingernail, you turn from the door.
There are no stairs leading upward, so it's onward and downward with you. Your foot taps lightly on the first flight of stairs. You find a rhythm, and begin to hum a dirty rap song to yourself relishing the words lick and stick and enjoying the rhymes.
The walls are white and blank, the stairs metallic, with small raised ridges that grip your feet. These are good stairs for sneakers- bad stairs for high heels- not that you'd wear heels anyway. You keep looking for another door, somewhere that will lead you to an awesome new place. The doorway to eternal stairs was not what you had had in mind.
After some time you pause and bend over to see how far you've come- and how far you've left to go. Looking up you have come four Eminems, three Missy Elliots, and two Little Kims. You consider what this would translate to in time, you've been rushing down stairs for about 40 minutes. You resent that you can still see the fire door at the top, and that you seem to only have come down about two flights. Deciding it is an illusion, you continue downward. Halfway through the chorus of "My Humps" you see a tile floor only a few flights below. Redoubling all your energy you speed forward.
The tiles are odd you realize as you step down onto them. They are hot, almost like fire, but they don't emit heat unless touched. Before you stand three doors. They don't betray by any deviation what remains behind them. In your head you label them: Door One, Door Two, and Door Three. The last option is to return to the top of the stairs, but you dismiss that- it's not that you are lazy, but that this stairwell gives you the willies. You put your hand against the doorknob, and begin to turn. There is a creaking sound as you pull, and then you open your eyes, looking up first.
There are no stairs leading upward, so it's onward and downward with you. Your foot taps lightly on the first flight of stairs. You find a rhythm, and begin to hum a dirty rap song to yourself relishing the words lick and stick and enjoying the rhymes.
The walls are white and blank, the stairs metallic, with small raised ridges that grip your feet. These are good stairs for sneakers- bad stairs for high heels- not that you'd wear heels anyway. You keep looking for another door, somewhere that will lead you to an awesome new place. The doorway to eternal stairs was not what you had had in mind.
After some time you pause and bend over to see how far you've come- and how far you've left to go. Looking up you have come four Eminems, three Missy Elliots, and two Little Kims. You consider what this would translate to in time, you've been rushing down stairs for about 40 minutes. You resent that you can still see the fire door at the top, and that you seem to only have come down about two flights. Deciding it is an illusion, you continue downward. Halfway through the chorus of "My Humps" you see a tile floor only a few flights below. Redoubling all your energy you speed forward.
The tiles are odd you realize as you step down onto them. They are hot, almost like fire, but they don't emit heat unless touched. Before you stand three doors. They don't betray by any deviation what remains behind them. In your head you label them: Door One, Door Two, and Door Three. The last option is to return to the top of the stairs, but you dismiss that- it's not that you are lazy, but that this stairwell gives you the willies. You put your hand against the doorknob, and begin to turn. There is a creaking sound as you pull, and then you open your eyes, looking up first.