The Door - a drabble posted on The Drabblecast
Large iron hinges hold the door as it moves effortlessly. The ornate handle no longer displays the gold coloured coating that once adorned it; endless hands wore that away a long time ago.
Occasionally a queue forms.
Humans wait patiently for their turn to take hold of the handle, the lack of light on the other side unnoticed. Standing in line they avoid eye contact, not wanting to admit why they are there. Individuals hurry through, regret carved onto their faces.
The handle on the other side of the door remains untouched, those who pass into the darkness cannot return.