The door

Annie didn’t know where the door came from or where it led to. It was just there, arriving overnight, somehow, in her living room.

It wasn’t always there. It, in fact, had never been there. Annie had lived in this house her whole life. Nothing unusual had ever happened in the spacious two-bedroom in all those thirty-odd years. Until the door popped up.

The lime green of the door didn’t exactly clash with the pale blues and yellows of her living room, but it didn’t look quite right, either. It was nothing at all like the front door, in all its pristine whiteness. The door handle was all wrong, too. The garish brassiness of the large, obtruding knob stood in stark contrast to the sleek, burnished flow of the curved handle on the main door.

Annie stood next to the coffee table, staring at the uninvited door. Her alarm was going off in her bedroom, reminding her that she needed to go to work. But the door, in all of its stoicism, pulled at her. She wanted to know where it came from. Where it led. But she was afraid to find out.

Annie decided to work from the living room, instead of her home office, so she could keep an eye on the lime green intruder. The small woman rushed to her office, grabbing up her laptop and her cup of coffee, gone cold in her absence.

When the petite Annie returned to her living room, ready for the workday to begin, her eyes darted to the mysterious door. Something had changed, though, during her short trip to her office.

The door was standing open.

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