Semi-Daily Scribbles

Peter is trapped inside a Monday of indeterminate length. Each floor of the fortress entices with its own formula for survival. It is difficult to know which corridor needs footsteps, but Peter accepts what cannot be retracted. He sees red and yellow doors line the halls. Now is not the time to run. What is done is done until it becomes undone, and the unknown is fixed in its ways. Peter spends all the riches he will ever earn. In this sense, the curvature of his world is constant. Change hides behind red and yellow. Red or yellow. There is always a door which must be swung open. Peter's outstretched hand trembles.