The door was aggressive, an affront to the visitor stuck in front of it, knowing very little of anything that might be behind it. A brass doorknocker that hid in the middle, darkened by years of grime and lack of care, looked out of place. Too big and slightly off centre, as if someone had put it there deliberately to annoy visitors.

It had stood there at the front of the building for years, no one in the town remembered anyone going in or out of it, and if they did, it would have been at a time when no one was around to see it anyway.

Ants were making their way up the door, following the knots and seams in the weathered wood, investigating, searching for any crumbs left over by the curious hand of a passer by, or maybe for somewhere to create a nest. Sparrows fluffed their wings at the top of the door, looking to make a quick snack out of the crawling ants, thier nests up in decaying rafters nearby.

It started to rain, adding to the wet Wednesday morning atmosphere in the old part of town as people started to hurry by, splashing the door, ants, birds and each other in their hurry to get away.

The visitor stood there letting the chaos whirl around her as those worried by the droplets esacped to warmer, drier places. She took out an old mangled key with a browning paper tag on it, managed to find the lock and wrestle the key into place. After a five minute fight of fruitless frustration, she managed to finally open the door and get inside.

Dust settled as the door rattled even after being closed, the door knocker still complaining about being moved after so long.

She was home.