#hbp100
Behind the door was another door, and another, and another. Each time I saw a new door, the paint was a little more worn, a little more cracked. Eventually, the handles grew more and more rusty. The handles stopped turning after a point. By then, I had begun to hear a rhythmic tapping.
Behind the door was another door, and another, and another. Each time I saw a new door, the paint was a little more worn, a little more cracked. Eventually, the handles grew more and more rusty. The handles stopped turning after a point. By then, I had begun to hear a rhythmic tapping.
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Half Baked Prompts
Prose/dialogue: “I didn’t see the door until it opened.” #hbp100
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