The stairs looked as if they could take you to another world.

It was old, quiet and unassuming, easy enough to miss as it lies camouflaged amongst foliage and fallen leaves. It had neither hand rails nor any concept of symmetry. It just lay there, its asymetrical, moldy slabs inviting innocent, fleeting passers-by to take the road less traveled. I pass these steps every day, and each time, more often than not, it would be empty. Nobody dared use those steps that were definitely inviting but also equally dangerous. And it was on those very steps that I saw that man. I do not know him. He does not know me. He was one of those strangers from the ocean of many who would simply flit in then out of one's everyday existence. He was sitting on those steps with a phone on his hand. He craned his neck to look at me as my eyes fixed onto his shaking back, the shadows on his dirty, white t-shirt moving in the same rhythm. Through my bespectacled but still poor excuse for an eyesight, I was able to register that he was not like the others. He did not possess the stereotypical fleeting eyes, the sweaty face, the expression contorted into something between agony and bliss. He looked...normal. Our eyes locked until I passed him by. A few steps later, I took another look back. I saw his blurred silhouette still looking at me. Even if I had chosen to stop and just return his gaze, I knew I would never know what thoughts ran inside his mind. But I knew, as his hand continued to move, that those stairs were taking him into another world.

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