Cobwebs and Corridors
Yoohoo, he says, peering down the dark hallway.
Everything I say is just an old cliche – he thinks for a moment, who is narrating this anyway? as he walks into the corridor, looking for a lightswitch or one of those old-time-religion bulb and strings. I’m in the background, some background, watching, trying not to giggle.
What’s with all the cobwebs? he says out loud, his voice echoing almost imperceptibly as the sound wave its carried on bounces gently against the smooth like-polished walls. Guess no one has been down here for some time.
He continues walking, his foot falls muffled by some quality of the floor, and the darkness of the corridor is both dark and not dark, like the imagined lights of dreams where we think we can see even though our eyes are closed and we are lying in a dark room — yes, just like that, he begins to see doors and doors and doors and doors rows of doors lining the corridor, and at the end of the corridor an arched passage that leads into a larger room.
He walks into it, and looks around. It is still dark but he can see. The room is empty except for a table in a corner with a half drank glass of wine on it and several books laying haphazard on the floor.
Looks like they left in a hurry, he thinks.