With little other option other than to further explore the darkened room I creep onward. I stop myself quickly. There must be something I can do to let myself know I have been in this room already. On the floor I spot a dusty pencil. I use my fingers to sharpen the point before I attempt any scribing. Then I realize I have no paper. Realizing the script in my hand I tear a piece off. I write on the back, "I am here". It makes me feel more comfortable to write that I am here rather than I was. The past seems unnecessary. At least I would know I was living if I read a note that said I am rather than I was later.
I placed this note where I had found the page, but I made it a little more noticeable just in case. Who knows if someone else might notice it? I turn my head to the left as I walk away. I sense another doorway across the stage, but where it leads I do not know. I have to cross the stage to get there. I take mouse-like caution as I step into view. Then as if possessed by an instinctive urge I dash across the stage to the opposite door. Fear of being seen by a ghostly audience has haunted me.
As I slid through the door my anxiety left me. What adventures await me in this room? I began to wonder. There are three doors now. To the right is a door similar to the one I had just past, to the left is a door with a window into which I can clearly see countless doors beyond it, and to my north is clearly an ancient and mystical door. To this door belonged an old, rusted handle and above it and old, rusted keyhole.
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