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A woman wanders the night market of death, each merchant and vendor offering a different door to experience their promised afterlife. The largest crowd surrounds a set of doors where creatures of many eyes scan the prospects that eagerly push to the front, hoping to be among the chosen. 'An Enteral Afterlife' was promised for these doors. The woman listens only briefly to the never ending list of rules that must be followed to be allowed to pass through the doors. She does not approach the doors directly, like the crowd, but instead finds a tree of many knarled branches to climb and peer passed the doors. Her discovery makes her crinkle her nose in disgust. The doors simply lead to more doors, a constant maze of frames and knobs. For as far as she can see, the pathway of doors stretches, the promised eternity nothing more then a maze with no exit. Eternal life with no rest or comfort.
The woman carries on.
Further down the market stalls she sees a man who is not trying to sell his door like the frenzied vendors clogging the streets and alleyways, but merely stand by it. As she approaches she notices his clean robes. She does not speak but as she meets his eye he understands her question. "Why do you not barter and beg?" He demurely bows his head and says, "I know this place is not for many, to watch ones life move backwards to nothing, but it offers a second chance of the world before, for those who can tolerate the journey." The woman ponders this for a moment. He understands this expression as well, "do not worry if my door is not what you seek. A tired and weary soul such as yours may wish to look further up," as he gestures to a forgotten sign in the distance. The woman bows kindly to the man.
The woman carries on.
Past a door with a path of candles and framed in marigolds, past a door carved with many letters and fruits, past a door that smells of sulfur, the woman reaches the sign. Shadows and moss cover the words which were etched long before many of the doors were brought to market and the woman uses her fingers to define the lettering.
END TO ALL ENDS
With a brow raised, the woman turns herself down the beaten path, the loss of the main market street light making it hard to navigate the foliage. At some distance from the noise and revelry of the stalls and doors, the woman finds a moment of silence among the trees. It's quiet here, only the soft sounds of the forrest and the distant sound of a pebble beach. She almost stops her journey here, on a path inbetween. She feels close to content now, almost at peace, but still she seeks something.
The woman carries on.
At the end of the path, found deep in the woods, the woman discovered something old, far older than the doors of the market, older than the walls of the square, seemingly older than the sign itself that led her to this quiet place. Here lies a different type of door, set as a lid to a long box, drowning in wilted white roses. Only two guardians watch this door, one dressed in black, one dressed in white. The woman feels compelled to fill the silence with a question.
"what does it cost?"
"Nothing." One replies with a voice that sounds empty and yet full of knowing.
"Do I get to take something with me?"
"No." Replies the other, as strange and hallow as their fellow.
"Does it last?"
"Maybe." One responses, almost sounding intrigued by her question. She hesitates now, unsure why the old door would need such guardians when the door offers so little. One last question forces it's way out before she can turn back to the market.
"What do I have to leave behind?" A small smile tugs on the mouths of the guardians, something that would normally cause her immediate dismissal of the door but their response gives her pause.
"A memory."
The woman approaches the door, a hand raised to open it. Her face worn, her spirit thin, her soul seeking it's end.
"A memory? That's all?"
They nod together and gesture to the door.
The woman carries on no more as she opens the door.