The Unspoken

An unfinished painting, a strange desire, and many unanswered questions, that did not need answers. Read on to know more... She sat on the bench outside. Gnarled hands resting on smooth wood, the patina worn down to an obscure colour. The corridor was dark, hushed almost, with dark oakwood doors at regular intervals down the passage, ending at a framed window at the end. The window was shut and feeble light shone in from the lead crisscross frame, the only witness to the late afternoon autumn sun. The door to her immediate left was open. If she leaned over...