short fiction · 2026-10-21

The Threshold of Unending Rooms

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

The door hung in the hallway, its frame wrought of polished obsidian, each hinge silent and empty. No sign of a room beyond, yet the mind kept turning the knob, expecting walls to give way. Every attempt left the air unchanged, as if the threshold itself refused passage. In that emptiness, I heard my own breath echoing, a reminder that some doors are not meant to be opened; they exist only as invitations to wonder.