Robert feels the string tugging insistently in his left hand, even as
he grasps it with his right. He traces the length of it as far as he
can reach, then pulls himself forward, repeating the movement so he's
dragging his body along its line.
Tug, tug, it continues to
twitch in his fingers, tug, tug.
He's not sure how long he's doing
this: it could be minutes or just as easily hours, time no longer has
any meaning for him. He's just there, still feeling the sun on his
back, following a line of string into an unknown void....
Until he's not. Quite unexpectedly
he finds himself faced with a door. He doesn't see it coming, it's
suddenly just there, before him, string tied around the handle.
“Well then,” he thinks, “This
must be the place.” He chuckles to himself, remembering the song,
then reaches forward to turn the handle. As the door opens he feels
a blast of cold wind causing him to sputter as air rushes into his
lungs.
