A Path to the Dark

The room grew dim, but the glass door at the far edge held a slice of the outside world. I marched across the hardwood floor toward it, drawn by the cool draft seeping through the frame. At the threshold rested a heavy brass doorstop shaped like an anchor. I stood before it, planted both feet, and pressed my knuckles against its cold flukes. It slid back two inches across the runner rug with a clean, grating scrape. Beyond the glass, distant streetlights flickered across empty pavements. A wider territory waits.