Close walls make close company, but these made isolation. The cobbled floor laid damp beneath the Earth. Walls of similar mossy detris canvassed the stone providing a judicial barrier to the deafening quiet imposed by the soil and clay beneath them.
Darkness colored what couldn’t be seen though tangible it touched each corner cramming itself into the crude seams and rough strained edges. The only glimpse of light shown through the cast iron doors lower buckled hinge. A somber yellowed orange, presumably of oiled torch fire it cut through the space shyly leaving a crocheting needles’ width incision across a dozen stones.
The prised light in time held no comfort. Untellable days of swollen faces pressed to the rusted hinge had corrupted all eyes but one.
Space – Unfinished
K.s. Holland 