![]() ![]() When she glances over her shoulder, she can still see the outside. She steps inside and the doors behind her close, trapping her in the narrow space. In front of her, another wall of darkened glass. The doors slide open when she comes within an arm’s reach. She can’t bring herself to look away from the two hollows in the middle of her sunlit face. ![]() She observes her reflection as she approaches the large tinted-glass sliding doors. The girl doesn’t venture off the narrow path that leads to the entrance. There are many windows on different levels, but it’s hard to gauge what lies beyond them. She takes a small digital camera from her backpack and photographs the front of the building: concrete walls with a vaguely cubist texture forming little turrets, and balconies jutting out full of lush green vegetation. Nobody sees the girl walking up the road. It was busy enough that there would always be somebody to pick you up on the way back. In the initial bubble of excitement, when many people made their way there, they travelled by taxi. You either had to drive along winding, gravel-strewn roads, or walk five miles from the nearest village with a train station. The Museum of Darkness wasn’t easy to get to. She used what was left of her savings to book a plane ticket. Yet, according to the museum’s website, it was still going and free to enter. It was popular then, but nobody had written about it in recent years. She found out that the museum had opened when she was at school. A bit of a journey from London but well worth the effort.’ ![]() ‘But what really changed me was the Museum of Darkness,’ he said. He said he’d gone through a very difficult time in his life. The young man listed a number of inspiring writers the girl had never heard of. He was asked how someone so young could come up with a work so deep and meaningful. One day, she read an article in the paper about a young man who had won a novel-writing competition. She didn’t leave the house much besides a daily walk to the local shop to get the paper-there was no phone line and the TV reception was sporadic, amounting to three different channels that all showed the same shows where the people said the same things. She moved into the family cabin, tucked away at the edge of a pine forest. When she quit her job, the throbbing stayed with her. Her mornings were spent willing herself to get out of bed. She dropped out of her courses and got an office job, but the pain didn’t seem to go away. She felt people’s piercing gazes on her, assessing and questioning. From there, a tightness would snake into her temples before settling in the back of her head. It all started with these pains deep in her eye sockets. ![]()
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