Dr. Svenkman
Astró feels the momentum of the audience growing, snowballing. Quietly he turns from the board and walks away, a tear escapes his eyes, he can't hide this hurt, this rejection. He glimpses back at the crowd from the doorway, one last look at a place where he'll never be welcome. He catches the empathy in a small girls face, she looks to him, her eyes reaching out, touching him, holding him, slowly gently cradling him. Astró looking back, despite his torment, aggressively fights the urge to break down crying, he pushes a smile of hope through. And the small girl smiles back, 'one day' he whispers, turns again and vanishes through the opening into the abyss, reality...
Somberly treading along the street, Astró glances ahead, he is nearing his destination. 'I'm sure it was Svenkman?' he half-heartedly assures himself. Stopping infront of the drab paint peeling doorframe, the brown pigment having long since turned a murky grey. The copper plaque, green most parts from oxidization, somewhat less proudly holds the name "Dr. Baron Thaumaturge Svenkman Ph.D. of "Appropriate Sesquipedalianism"
Taking nothing from the plaque, Astró recalls the name over and over, as heard many times in that room. The oooohs and ahhhhs as the great Svenkman graced the mighty hall with his unsurpassed, unfathomable, unattainable, unstoppable... "Sesquipedalianism?" he cuts in on himself reading the word from the plaque. "Hmmmmm, dunno, but sounds good to me..."
Reaching the top most stair he emerges on the landing, a bright foyer, lit only by two lean tall candles, held elegantly in the delicate hands of a maiden frozen in bronze. He notes the two doors, the one to the right painted a deep blue, and to the left a fiery red. He likes blue, but somehow red seems appropiate here.
Knocking three times in rhythm he steps back and waits a moment. After several moments of silence a small voice beckons 'Cross the threashold, make an entrance, penetrate my boy... I've been expecting your inquisition.'
Astró's eyes widen, his body stiffens for a moment as if struck by a chilled breeze. Focusing again he reaches for the knob and slowly turns it to the left.
As the door opens a golden light flows into the foyer, assaulting the entire room, even the bright maiden bearing candles flinches in this mighty luminance.
'So...' Svenkman says, leaning to the side and placing his chin gently in his left palm.
'What is it that troubles you?' he asks.
The room is filled with gold and red. Svenkmans gown burgundy with flowing gold braiding. The chiar, magnificently crafted in gold with crimson satin cushions. The carpet, the curtains, the mantle on the fireplace all crimson with golden patterns and edging.
'A malignant sarcasm grows within me,' Astró starts, but noticing the smirk on Svenkmans face, he stops, turns, and walks away.