The white room was nothing spectacular in any regard. It was your standard waiting room of sorts, it's bigger than the ones in an office dentist building but smaller than you would have at your local hospital miles down the freeway. Those long fluorescent lights that when you smash in anger or when they fall out because they aren't tight enough that they create that pearl mist at the break point, railroad across the ceiling shining and humming its dim light in the room.

Hard black plastic chairs lined the walls with cushions with a dark flower design embedded within the fibers. One of those cushions that look somewhat comfortable but when sat upon, you are met with an uncomfortable flat seat. Each corner had a simple coffee table, strewn about with copies of Highlights and Sports Illustrated from a couple years past. In the middle was a coffee table of, once again, ordinary sort. Solidly built but years of abuse of it being a makeshift foot rest, race track and dinner table has made the table seen it's wear and tear.

And then, standing boldly near the right corner of the room stands the Door. If one were to describe what would be the immovable object, this door would fit this description to the "t". Detailed cut into the painted white brick, it stands a good Yao Ming high with a Yokozuna width. It's frame built of a black painted steel that is concreted a good three or four feet in the ground. The magnificent door was built from a solid dark brown oak, sanded smooth like a baby's bottom and coated with a sealant that reflected close to that of a mirror. The matching black hinges dinged from attacks of screwdrivers, fingernails and what seemed to be gnawing teeth marks of small critters or hapless humans trying to escape. And last a silver, key hole less knob proudly protruding forward, coated in the prints and sweat of guest's past prisoners. This, my friends, is a Door.

The white room is nothing spectacular in any regard. It's your standard waiting room with with your standard waiting people. One of which is Richard who is slumped in the waiting chair and about to wake up in the waiting room. Drool runs down his stubbled beard that rivers his way creating a damp pool on his baby blue button up. He grows restless and makes use of his grey tweed jacket to cover him as he attempts to create a fetal position in the chair only to slip down creating a massive dark brown hair cow lick near the left side of his head. He groans, and stirs as the green crusty chunks of sleep begin to flake off as he awakes. Sore and alone, he sits in the waiting room waiting for his time to leave.