The three locks were swinging back and forth like the clock tower that fell onto Captain Hook. I looked around for answers. Only the quiet sound of someone in the hallway, which is usually well-rested. I stepped toward the door. My stride felt like I was stepping onto a hollow cloud.
Patience is a virtue.
Folding the ponderous door, I played the role of a clean dog trying to claw it open, hoping to venture into worlds anew. I saw a child. Probably around the age of six or seven, sitting Indian-style on the checkered rug. He murmured the words from the book that he was holding. As I skimmed the face of it, I saw his soft hands were covered with red, mystical blood.