I have a little doorway, that is all my own. No one else can see it, though they try. It lives only for me, but I am subject to its whims, not it of me. Loyal a servant I am and there is nothing I would deny it. Should it call for blood, I will give it buckets. But so far, no requests have made of me. And the world breathes a sigh of relief. But that is neither here nor there so let us return to the matter at hand.
The tiny portal exists in the bricks, and it shines a bright light on my dark life. Shadows it may be to others, but I live in the blackness of the void and such darkness appears as though bright light. And within their company I feel the most at home for the blackness gives me comfort and cools my fevered mind, while the light burns away all of my facsimiles.
Then there are those moments when the door opens up for me and what I see when I look inside, is something, indescribable. But more than the image, is the feeling I get when the obstruction is no more. As though I were on top of a mountain, in the playground of eagles and I am able to look down my nose at all the little people whose lives are meaningless in the face of such power.
But my command over such forces only lasts so long as the door remains open, which is why I feel so low when it is closed. I knock, but it does not open and I am left all alone. In those instances, they that occur more often than not, I am left to my own devices as I try to wile away the hours and distract myself from the pain of my isolation.
But I am patient. And I will wait silently, in the shadows, for even a glimpse of light. A single instant that is worth all of the lonely moments that lead up to it. For I will be filled with such incredible energy that I will forget all about the torturous treatment I feel deep down in my guts. Such is my devotion as a devout acolyte and I shall not be swayed.
Exercise #763: Picture
View the picture, and write!