He looked at the door for one last time. Years back he had closed it shut and yet a few months back a gust of wind suddenly tried to push it open. A momentary lapse of reason ensured and beyond every good advice from friends he found himself staring at the crack on the door. A flicker of light, of hope, of dreams long lost and regained and finally man’s intoxication with life lured him into its snare.
The door continued to inch open. Putrid air filled his life with memory of decomposed promises but he dismissed it as the mess that had been gathered up behind the door over the years. He persisted. He knew something beautiful, pure, unadulterated still remained behind that door. And while all his friends prayed for his sanity he was adamant.
One night he was out and suddenly he met a stranger who had lived behind that door. They got talking and the conversation led to what lay on the other side. Slowly as the night grew darker and the clouds played havoc in some distant lands, in the other man’s innocent admissions, he saw his innocence get killed.
Lies, betrayal, heartbreak. He felt used, soiled, trashed beyond measure.
He drank his hemlock that night so that he would no longer remember. They said it rained blood and tears as his lifeless eyes stared at the door.
Next day, he woke up in a new country, feeling alive and without any burden on his shoulders. And the door was closed forever. This time for real.
At least he hoped so.