12/5 2018

The Password Tristan Johns

As I approached this ancient building of brick and stone, I noticed there were many repairs and fixtures made all over. Some of the roof was in different tile, some paint was a different pattern. As if touched by many unique souls across time, instead of one soul in an instant.

Coming closer and closer I could finally make out the bold words above the doorway:


I rapped on the large oak door, not expecting a reply but because I had no choice. A slat opened which was previously unnoticed, and an eye glared outward.

He spoke what I presumed to be a sort of password.

“Are you wrong?”

“Yes”, I replied.

The oak door creaked to the side.

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