one of those things.

The front doors to the school were ridiculously heavy.

It had something to do with its hinges, we think, because the actual doors were more window than anything else. This only added to its trickery, that something so illuminated with light could make you feel like you were dragging concrete across sand.

If permissible, a person could pass days lounging on the school steps, watching the students tramp up to the doors, grasp the long, looping handles and find suddenly, their pulls were now tugs, their tugs now fully-matured heaves.

Many dealt with the doors' stubbornness subtly: taking root and standing their ground, their knees bent and locked as their sneakers took grip. But the very special few found themselves snapping forward with enough crack in their shoulder to make any witness flinch. As if the doors had tried to rip them open instead.

Normally, the act of watching people open and enter through doors was like trying to remember the last time you blinked: you didn't. But the school only had one set of front doors and they were so famous for their heft and drag, you wondered why they were never fixed or why people could never remember how heavy they were and always surprised because of it.

It was just one of those things that, without any reason or will, had just come to be.