I had to put them beyond use, these keys. Surely you understand? Once that door is opened again, nobody would be safe. Paint? No, it’s not paint—it’s acid. The keys are warping and melting just as what lies beyond the gate is warped.

There’s always someone curious enough or with the swaggering bravado to want to take a little peek. I couldn’t risk that.

The tagged one? Why, the key to our house, We can never return.—our age is done. The Earth belongs to the young ones now.

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Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here