There it stood, old and steadfast in spite of all the years it had been there. It looked so foreboding; ominous with all the moss and vines that clung to its face. There was one path leading almost all the way to the door, but right before it, the path split into two. The first path, the one that entered the door, was hard to see due to the lack of its use. The other one, that was quite well-worn, veered off to the right and down a green, inviting hill.
The door was as ancient as the land itself, and made of solid stone. It had seen thousands of years come and go, and hundreds of people make the choice. They would stand for a while and just stare at it, with maybe an occasional glance down the well-known path. They might sit down, maybe take a nap. Then, after either minutes or hours, they would make their choice. More often than not they would take the worn trail down the hill to the right; only a few chose the door.
No one knew what lay behind the door, whether it contained sorrow or happiness, but only a mere few chose to risk everything and enter it. Only a small handful made the effort to twist the ancient handle, move the massive rock slab on its creaking hinges, and pull open the stone door. Once they entered, no one ever returned or was heard from again. Whether they couldn't come back, or didn't want to, no one knew. They just entered the door and disappeared. But it was still only a few.
He was standing where the paths divided, intently studying the door. He was curious as to what was behind the ancient structure. He glanced briefly at the path that traveled down the hill, but quickly disregarded it. It was too simplistic. Everything down that path had already been discovered, used, abused, experienced, and put away. He wasn't looking for the explained. What was behind the door? Should he open it? Should he go through? He turned around and sighed while looking at the path from which he'd come. Then he looked back at the vine-covered door and sat down. For the longest time he sat and wondered what he should do. Finally, he got to his feet and walked forward. His heart was beating wildly as his fingers brushed the cold door handle. He gripped the handle more firmly and turned it to the right. It clicked loudly and gradually opened outward. The man stood silently staring into what lay beyond the door. He was stunned by it. Slowly, as if in a trance, he moved through the entranceway. If one looked through the doorway you could see him with a look of blissful intrigue on his face. Then the door swung inward and closed with a heavy sigh. That was the last anyone ever saw of the man. How many more will choose the door?
finis
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