Knocking on Hell's Door
The paths we choose are they destined or given to us? I've lived a full life and chosen my choices clearly, but some have been tainted by the blood of impulse and now rake down my soul as if they own me. So head down, I keep walking through these dark streets not looking up, afraid of what I'll find. The darkness is suffocating, filling my lungs like smoke in a barrel. I can hear each twig or stone I unknowingly kick, hearing it break or collide in a vacuum of silence. I stop and look up as I'm distracted from walking. A crow sitting over a skeleton which decomposed years ago greets my eyes as if it was waiting for me. With no words spoken I hear it speaking to me, in a haunting voice it pleads me to stop and turn away but I wish I could adhere its advice and stop but too much as passed and too much has been left unsaid. The silence has deafened me for far too long now and I must find my own way home. As I reach my destination I see a door blocking the entrance to the end...