Every day I will write the very beginning of a story, a paragraph or a whole page, without worrying about where it might lead. "Nulla dies sine linea," I hope!
Sunday, January 29, 2012
138
A building sits, dark and empty. Brick. Three-storied. Industrial, with large, rolling metal doors in the back. The front was faced with stone and had a half-circle, four-stair landing up to an entrance covered by sheets of weathered plywood. Beneath the plywood, protected, was a huge double door, half wood and half window. It had been welcoming. It had been a pleasure to work there. People, mostly men but a few women, had worked there for entire careers. Most, men and women, were dead now. Leaves from trees that had broken through cobbled driveways skittered weakly in the silent corners. The building was waiting.
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