Ron was waiting to die.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxrQIE2z5N3
He sat on his favorite leather recliner with a coffee in one hand and a small hardcover book entitled "Principled People" in the other. He was on page 94, with 217 left to go, and anticipated finishing the book in two days time. He would then reread it in the same recliner with a coffee in hand from a quarter past two until nine-thirty. He would eat a quick mac-and-cheese microwavable dinner and get into his bed with a night gown and cap and sleep till eight O'clock, when he would wake to his alarm, visit the pastry shop around the corner and restock on necessities from his local grocery store. He would spend any extra time before two O'clock reading the weekly paper over several times until he reached the time to begin his reading again.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPIqY5F5b4a
"Principled People" was not an interesting book. It was a detailed document on morality with not much applicability to someone expecting to die. Ron did not show any enthusiasm during any of his daily activities, however, so "Principled People" was just more of the same.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCLX4je8ZCf
Ron had white hair -- that is, the unnatural white that comes from years of bleaching and coloring that eventually wears away entirely, leaving a dry and tangled mess. His day clothes were workout shorts -- the older kind which wore unpleasantly high on his old hips -- and a striped t-shirt. His face was drawn-in as if he was constantly struggling for air and his eyes were a light brown, which was the same color of his skin which was cracked open in several places from the sun.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjl1oJxeDoc
Time had taken its toll on the old man, and while most would try to combat this with various medicines and oils and such -- and Ron had done so for a time, as could be seen with his hair --, Ron had already given up.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKQ9YQMvZuf
His days were spent repetitively with no care for time as he let his life waste away.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKegeLqAUdR
That is, until one blatantly normal day when Ron saw something he had never noticed before. He had lived in the same house for forty long years, and yet the small door under the stairs was new to him.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9l9p6Q5sd4
It was eight-fifteen, when normally he would continue his reading. But the door had a certain draw to it, and it caused Ron to stand to his feet, put down his coffee and book on the little table beside him, and waddle slowly over to the door.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTuQC6rRvbe
He examined it, stroking the grain of the wood. It felt wet and soiled even though there were no pipes near and the stairs above were dry. It smelt of burnt cedar and there were cobwebs on the corners and rust on the metal hinges. Ron was perplexed that he had never seen the door.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcYKIdgu0KK
There was a round copper knob, and the unopened door continued to omit its peculiar draw, so Ron reached out his hand, grabbing the cold knob with shaking hands, and turned, but it barely budged. He struggled with it for a while, thinking the tension must be due to rust, but he quickly noticed a key hole below the knob. He had not seen it earlier.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTQ6PkLu2WH
This new sight took him aback for a few moments. Ron then tilted back his head and let out a heavy laugh. "Dear me," he mused, "I haven't laughed this hard in a long while. All this, and it's locked!"1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡd2sp55pG69
With a much lighter step, Ron trotted back to his cozy recliner, sat, took a sip of his coffee and reached his hand down to retrieve "Principled People" from the table. But it was not there.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwBfRaD5Dub
His eyebrows wrinkled as he felt around the table. He found no book, but just as he was about to turn his head to see if it had fallen, he felt a small, rough piece of metal with his hand. He lifted and examined it, his eyes growing wider by the second.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnXPdKrtRnt
It was a key.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKlRjrfp0xV
Ron scrambled out of his chair and over to the mysterious door. With a deep breath he tried the lock, and, with a little pressure worked in to shave away some of the rust, the key fit.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2qVAVS7cjv
He turned the nob and pulled the door open. It was difficult because of the rusted hinges and the old wood catching and dragging on the marble floor, but he managed.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0To3FEMRdt
Ron opened the door all the way and a cold draft came upon him. He turned his eyes to the black void in front of him, but only for a second before he collapsed, his eyes fixed on the contrastingly white floor instead.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdfuVYbqPGB
His coffee, which he had continued to hold up to this point, was spilled out, painting the floor black -- though not as black as what Ron had just seen -- and the mug was cracked but not broken, rolling side to side on the floor. The key had disappeared from his other hand, and in its place was "Principled People", open to page 311, the very last. It quoted, in large font, Those who seek what they should not seek often find what they should not find.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5Pds0drWiy
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The door, however, was still open; it let in a cold draft and darkened the whole house.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡr5RlhZDlio
Ron's eyes looked lifeless for a moment, but he soon rose, his demeanor completely changed.1011Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbM6DVBlbbZ
He said, "I no longer wish to die," and walked outside with a dark grin on his face.
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