This is a green door that led to a small apartment that stored a lot of material for various organizations for the government. It was made to resemble a small cottage, so that anyone that would come across it would not think twice about 'spying'. We know that there may be a few people who would be curious and wander and wonder about its' small interiors, but we are pretty sure that they will not learn anything really important and share classified materials.
If anyone would find the old key and enter, they will be curious, but all they will really see is a quaint little cottage room loaded with old country furniture and a lot of books for a cozy feel to the place. I always thought of this area as a good place just to get away from all things. The Green Door was painted green to match the ivy-covered stone wall, and really not significant to any political, economic, religious or even social facet to living anywhere.
About the Creator
Mark Graham
I am a person who really likes to read and write and to share what I learned with all my education. My page will mainly be book reviews and critiques of old and new books that I have read and will read. There will also be other bits, too.
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More stories from Mark Graham and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Who's a Thief?
Once upon a time there was a thief who liked to iron, but he could never find his own. He sculked around his neighborhood looking for steam irons till one day. He was walking around his neighborhood, and he noticed that a few houses down at the corner of Press and Fold that there was the scent of steam coming from one of the houses. He continued sniffing all the way, then at 513-Fold Street he found the correct house of steam.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Echo of Water: Washing Away the Scent of Fear
1. A Haunting Nocturnal Ritual For John, his marriage to Mia was supposed to be a sanctuary of peace after years of solitude. Mia was like a figurine of fine crystal; delicate in her movements, soft-spoken, and always trailing a faint scent of hibiscus and vanilla. Yet, beneath this serene surface lay a disturbing nocturnal ritual: twice every night, before retiring to bed, Mia would bathe. It was a rigorous, almost sacred routine that never faltered, regardless of the circumstances. John, a designer with a keen eye for detail, would watch her slip into bed with her back turned to him, whispering a faint "Goodnight" before sinking into a sleep that resembled an escape. He initially dismissed it as a fastidious obsession with cleanliness, never realizing that the water wasn’t for hygiene—it was a desperate attempt to wash away a "memory" that refused to die.
By Mayar Younes4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Nice bit of micro fiction. The picture of a green door definitely propels the imagination.