The staircase stretched on upward into the sky, but Larry’s eyes looked down upon the grey cement steps. His hand clasped the cold iron rail, the chipping black paint like dried leaves to his touch. His feet progressed, the left following the right and the right the left, in a timeless malaise. His mind was clouded with unpleasant dreams he tried to shun. Finally, pulling himself from the dark meanderings of his broken heart, he again looked upon the sun. Upward, he reminded himself.
Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun: But if a man live many years, and rejoice in them all; yet let him remember the days of darkness; for they shall be many. All that cometh is vanity.