He reached for the dust with trembling fingers and swiped it over as if he was caressing the waves on the shore. He lifted his hand to the level of his eyes and the dust would sprinkle down like a thread of glittery bits of smashed crystal.And then for some reason, he began to cry.
He could swear he has never seen that woman in his life, there was no questioning that, but he also knew she looked eerily familiar. And when she turned into dust, he felt like his heart was ripped out of his chest and burnt to ashes. But all that didn’t really matter because he was yet to answer the big question: Where am I and how did I get here?
He gathered the dust and tried to fill his pockets with it, then he headed to a big wooden door at the end of the room. He turned the knob then hesitated for a moment before pulling it open. How does he know what’s behind that door? What if there was nothing but a deep, dark abyss there? He hates darkness, and he’s severely acrophobic. He looked arounit was the only way out and there were no windows, no waysee what’s waiting for you outside. It was either to stand there for what seemed like forever, or to muster some courage and just pull the door open.
He wasn’t a courageous man, but he went with the obvious choice, for after the things he’d seen so far he thought he was ready for anything.
Soon enough he would learn that he was sadly mistaken.
He opened the door in a swift move, like ripping away a bandage. A huge gush of wind pushed him back and it was hard to open his eyes. A moment later the wind stopped, and he would finally open his eyes, only to wish he didn’t.
To be continued, or not