The Door

The desolate day, being shoved and crushed below the horizon, grabbed the very last bit of time it had left; night wining, ran its black silken hand over the hard metal surface hidden between two bushes painted it the same raven color that was slowly taking over the sky.

A place that held truth, love and enlightenment, a place of great triumph for her kind. Covered with faded bolts from long ago that were snuggled into the metal they had slept in for the past century. Holding back the wave, from the bomb, that not only had supposedly wiped out the female race, but had also sent society spiraling down into the deepest depths of despair. Every woman that had heard of the bomb had help build the shelter that lay hidden between two overgrown bushes and behind that much disheveled door. Women who had been scientists, politicians, lawyers and even president had all helped in creating this shelter, which surprisingly had done much more than it was expected to. Books, famous documents and paintings were all hidden there for people who wanted to know, who were curious to see what had been. It had stored great knowledge that even at the moment was needed for mass use, was still to be used later. A distinct structure, about the height of an average woman and broad enough for two, was the gloomy door. It’s slightly rusted exterior with a forest green hue covering over what hadn’t managed to rust made the makeup of the door. A small round handle embedded into the moss, a covered engraving on the door, was what was used to open it. You wouldn’t be able to gain access to the place unless you had someone who knew how to get into it, let alone find it.

When walking slightly to the left of that door in the white washed wall that made up the building, that the secret place was hidden under, was a carving. To an average person the symbols wouldn’t mean anything more than a few scribbles or scraps that had been made. Though to the people who lived below the average person, would look at it with pride and wish that it was true. For those very symbols told of a future, a future that still hadn’t come. It was a promise made by the original women who had created the place. An oath that you had to make before you could help the cause, in a sense that you would not give the whereabouts of this door. For only the silent plague would fall upon you soon six feet below the surface.