Sorrow hounded, he disdains embarrassment. He sees the thick, iron door, rusted in place. It has not been opened in years, so where has that loathsome figure gone? He does not fear the pricks as he pushes forward; they pierce only flesh. None have come this way, they claim, but his heart knows.
Into the door, he sends his shoulder. Bam! Bam! Bam! The sun is rising. Bam! Bam! Bam! The door creaks open. Bam! Bam! Bam! The iron door scrapes along the stone floor. Into the ghastly shadows, the long hampered sun sends his living light.
Tale Told 