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a corridor
scroll forward
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you have walked here before, though
you do not remember it.
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at the far end of the corridor, a small point of light.
it is no closer than when you began.
41m
to your left, a door without a handle.
to your right, a door without a frame.
left  ·  right
62m
the carpet has been worn into a track
by feet that no longer exist.
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somewhere ahead, the corridor turns.
but only after you stop looking.
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behind you, the corridor is the same.
you cannot prove it was ever different.
181m
a moth, suspended in the air
between two distant lamps.
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a single page from a book lies on the floor.
you bend to read it. it says:
“the corridor does not lead anywhere.
the corridor is the somewhere.”
the point of light has not moved.
you have two choices, and they are deeper and surface.
or you can turn back — though the door behind you closed some time ago.
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