A child sat alone in a cold, dark room, staring into the abyss of despair. Shivering from clawing fear, he tried to grasp the kind of wrong he’d done to deserve this kind of damnation.
He desperately pleaded for mercy, but the door remained shut.
Minutes passed. Hours passed.
Perhaps even days had elapsed. Who knew…
But even in the chasm of desolation, time still advanced, albeit slowly. The door flung open, and the child finally attained his freedom.
There was no trace of crying fit on his face. His cheeks were no longer wet, and his eyes no longer red. But his gaze was cold, exposing the frost that kept biting his soul.
Sent there by who was supposed to be his source of warmth and light, he no longer had the confidence in the verity of love. He stepped toward the unlatched door, heartbroken, enough for the numbness to take over.
And just like that, with each step forward, the child forever shut off the entrance to his heart.
