My written stories

D is for Door.

He noticed the door the morning after moving in. The grey light had turned the fog to weak, milky tea. A blue shape caught Mark’s eye as he sat down to cold cereal in the tiny kitchen. A nagging thought tugged at his mind as he dressed. Ah, that was it. Last night he had been certain there was no door, just a bleak stone wall across from the complex. The lamp had been bright last night. Today Mark shrugged it off and stepped outside. And dropped his keys. The door was now red.

“Mark Hoffner.” A tall woman with silver hair and unreadable expression appeared. “Come with me.” Mark decided arguing wasn’t a good idea.

“You’re from the office?” He asked. The woman turned to glance at him. She smiled.

“Do you really think you were offered a job at an office?” She asked.

“I guess this explains the housing,” said Mark. He looked back over his shoulder, and saw the door was gone.

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