There is a door.
The Spirit fiddles with the lock, it hunts for the key.
Yet there is no keyhole.
The door is vast, interesting.
The Spirit avoids it but sometimes feels to seek it.
The Spirit hunts for the Key.
It hunts high and low.
On land and in the sea.
At times, it calls off the hunt, deems it unworthy of finding.
Other times, The Spirit yearns for the Key.
Seeks it desperately.
Then The Spirit finds the Key.
It shines, golden and brighter than the sun.
Its soft light calls to The Spirit, like a long-lost friend.
'Come, come' it beckons, and The Spirit follows.
Aware but Unaware.
They arrive at the door.
Vast, interesting.
But also scary.
The Spirit hesitates.
The Key beckons.
The Key somehow unlocks the door.
It calls louder.
'Come, come' it says.
But as the Spirit looks through the door, it sees.
A whirl of chaos and darkness.
It turns back to see light and warmth.
And closes the door.
The Key vanishes.
And The Spirit is glad, that It didn't make that choice.
Because The Door, vast and interesting, yet chaos and darkness, was death.
