million tiny oceans, reflecting every bit of sunlight within reach, and for a moment it was like standing between two identical skies, each containing all the celestial beauty of the other.
What was this place? The dunes beyond the gravel seemed to go on forever, merging with the sky as if they were the same entity, where the gold, reflective flakes met the bronze and royal firmament, their colors finding adopted homes within the grains of the earth. And as the sky was reborn again and again in the different shades of a thousand canvases, so also did the dunes find and reflect their will.
Johnny walked along the dueling skies, his feet leading his mind as it muddled over the impossibility of such a place, but, he decided, it must be real, somehow…and this road must lead somewhere, eventually.
After a time, the fading sun collapsed back into the far side of the world. As the light escaped the sky’s attention, it was replaced by a hundred thousand others. The stars of the universe shined, their angelic light reflecting off the gem-like sand, until the only thing that existed was an orchestra of light playing continuously throughout both heaven and Earth.
Johnny walked on, seemingly encased within the universe itself.
For a while, it was difficult to tell where the road was in all of this, because everything was dark except for the stars and their reflective counterparts. The only thing that helped him was the realization that the road did not reflect the sky the way the sand seemed to, and so, although it was pitch black, there were no stars on the road, which meant that all he had to do was follow the darkness. So he did.
He walked along the hidden path for longer than he cared to know, but never once did he stop—never once did he doubt that the truth was somewhere before him—the answer to an unspoken riddle.
Soon the darkness of the world evaporated into cerulean morning light once more, and Johnny Abram stood alone, unable to fathom what it was he saw before him along the road of the wastes.
The Door stood atop the road, its deep, black oak both thick and strong. It was at least ten feet tall, seven feet across, and it had no handle or knob that could be clearly seen.
He hated it instantly. With all his heart, he wished for it to end—to die, if such a thing were possible. Somehow, it was responsible, he knew. The desert, the men in white coats, the darkness, and his madness. Somehow, this thing was behind it all.
But as he stared into it, time passed, and before he knew it Johnny had become transfixed, his eyes never swaying, never moving from the monolith, and eventually he found himself unable to think of anything else but the Door, unable to look away. Unable to speak. Unable to move at all.
Johnny Abram
Johnny sat alone in his house. The television was on, but the sound was mute. From what he could see, it was the news, and the headline said something about another little boy missing. They showed people looking for him in the woods, putting up posters, and eventually putting out a call to anyone that might have any knowledge of the child’s whereabouts. He felt sorry for the boy, but there was nothing he could do.
He got up to look for Gale.
He went up the stairs, first to the bedroom, then the guestroom, and finally back downstairs and into the kitchen. He looked everywhere, all the while feeling as if he had just missed her—like she had just left the room—and so he continued, over and over again, searching continuously without a trace.
After a short while, he gave up and proceeded back into the living room, thinking that if he stayed in one spot long enough, his wife might walk by.
But she never did.
He began to watch the television again. It was still the news, except this time they were covering a car accident. The headline read Auto Accident at 45 th and Main.
But Johnny ignored it.
He walked over to the nearby fireplace and took one of the pictures of the