The door opened revealing the sun drenched day outside. Inside the space was vast and black, the only stream of light came from the half open door above. Silver lay motionless, stunned by the trickle of light penetrating her eyes causing her to wince. In another place, another time, she might have seen the light as hope and devised a plan to escape. Now she lay at the bottom of a seemingly dark pit and peered at the opening, her mind dulled by the trauma of her situation. Inch by inch she dragged herself forward, tearing her skin on the sharp gravel floor beneath her, beads of sweat dripped in her eyes. The floor above her was gone, only fragments of what had existed jutted out from the edges. She was indeed below ground level. Her movements were slow and labored, though she moved, the door did not come closer. Her fears intensified as she felt the weight of darkness and the taste of blood in her mouth. Exhausted, cold and confused, she collapsed into a coiled heap in the dirt and stopped moving.
Days later Silver was found by a neighbour. She lay curled in the darkest corner of her room, a trickle of sunlight touched her face. Gentle Reader, I leave you with this, was there a door or had the door to her mind closed her off from the hope that comes from the light? Without hope can one see a way out?
Above is my little contribution in response to the photo, which refuses to appear here, on Magpie Tales. I am no writer!