[ghost]: 200.Stories.Fall From Grace

The keys stopped working. It didn't really set in until the keys stopped working. This door had always stood as a welcome, a refuge, but now it was a wall. What had once been a gateway to paradise, weathered and kindly, like the familiar face of an old friend, now stood harsh and cold, a barricade, a stranger.
I fumbled with the keys a bit more, but to no avail. The indignant voice droning on in my ear was no help. She didn't blame me for it - how could she? but she couldn't bear to carry the reality fo the deed on her own. Honestly, I couldn't blame her either, really. It hurt too much.
I put my hand to the door, the ornate carvings pressed against my skin like the bars of a prison cell. She says we should leave, forget anything ever happened. Even in this darkness, I see every detail of the warrior angel who had cared for us, protected us all these years, just as I see the serpent, vile and deceitful, whose companionship had brought us to this. They were dead to us now, made of cold and stone and distance.
I move to try the keys once more, but my hands tremble too much, and they fall, burdened by the same grief that drags me down now. Through my tears, I feel her hand touch my shoulder, but the loneliness remains. She coaxes me away from the gate - that precious, painful gate. We walk.
Eventually, my eyes clear, and I notice the dirt on my pants, the filth coating the symbol of our shame.

Nothing left but for these dirty hands to try to rebuild our Eden.







Inspired by the following picture by Mark Tansey: http://www.askart.com/AskART/photos/SNY1192004/58.jpg