Member-only story
Of Dust and Dreams, Pt. 2
Short Fiction
The man glided down a long back hallway. The walls were lined with hand painted square tiles. There were scenes of apple trees and still life dinner plates. Stick figures held hands and orange suns poked out from behind white clouds dotting a blue sky.
Manny, 7… Karlene, 52…Gerald, 23…
“So many people have lived here,” Lauren whispered.
I turned to her betraying the pit in my stomach and the momentary panic in believing we were walking through the town’s graveyard.
The man’s shoes clicked like a heartbeat, steady, and firm against the floor. We were not even sure where we were going.
“Hi, I’m Ray, this is Lauren. We’re from Killian just about 40 miles west of here.”
“I’m Raul. General manager, greeter, historian…” He trailed off and playfully rolled his eyes.
“Right…”
“Sir, where are we going?” Lauren asked.
“Here.”
Raul stopped in front of two solid iron doors about 10 feet high. He brought down the knocker with a force that echoed deep within the space behind it. The door creaked open and a cool, fragrant breeze blew into the vestibule. Lauren took one last look straight through to the street outside and followed us inside.
