The door is closed yet a faint light leaks through the bottom of it. The door is completely surrounded in blackness; the only light comes from the door, constructed of old wood, cracked and rough with the ages it looks tired. A little mirror is tacked to the door with the words “Fortes fortuna adiuvat” charred above it. “Fortune favors the brave.” The man quietly says under his breath, the words barley a whisper. The man in the mirror looks back at himself tilting it on the tack so he can see his shoes still creased with their newness. He is wearing a fine suit of the blackest black and the tie and pants to match. But his eyes, his stone cold grey eyes, colder than the endless space he I about to enter holds him captive for a few moments. He pushes open the door with one hand. A slight push, but the door opens fast and with an insignificant rasp it comes to a stop halfway open. The man shows momentary surprise, the light came not from a light bulb, but a trillion twinkling lights, he was looking down at the universe. He was one step away from infamy, and he recalled the Latin words “Fortune favors the brave” he knew what they spelled but he had never studied Latin, the suit he wore was borrowed. Yet he could not stop and he took the plunge. Downwards he falls, head over heels and straight into god-hood.
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Submission Name: The Doorway
