: About Me

I. The brittle paint crumbled beneath the palm of my hand. I closed my eyes, feeling something in it, something powerful. I could feel the energy of this old wooden door. I tried to imagine what was inside. I saw fallen rafters, steel beams, decayed from years of rust, resting haphazardly against the soiled walls. Various debris was scattered across the hard cement floors, mostly brittle leaves, crushed cans, broken bottles, and faded newspapers. The darkness of the room was broken by a single beam of light that entered the room through a softball sized hole in the wall. II. The cobbleston...