The Stone Mind

The definition of consequences: doors only open in one direction.              

Every door leads to a narrow hallway of uncertain curvature. Every hallway to a room. Some rooms have water, food, a bed, a bath; enough for a short pause, not to stay.                                                          

Every room has doors others than the closed one you entered through. And every door has something written on it.

At first they were tic-tac-toe boards (at first or as far back as you can remember?). Every door in that room had a board empty except for a X, in each door in a different place. You had picked a door with one on a random corner, which led to a room where every door showed a board with your corner X, an O on the center, and another possible move for you. You understood then, and kept choosing doors that lead to other rooms with your move, a response, and an option.

The room that showed you the board of your defeat had a single door. You had expected it to be an exit for some reason you have forgotten. It led to a room, not the first room but one too with an empty board. 

You picked the door with an X on the center, and kept walking through hallways until you won the game. The room that showed you the board of your victory had a single door, which led to a room with many possible initial moves in a harder game.

It took you days and many tries to choose the doors that lead to victory. That final room led to a harder game.

You don't know how long it's been since then. You defeated the building at chess. You spent an eternity playing go.

Now the rooms have words on their floor and possible replies on the doors. You choose one, walk to the building's reply, and then choose your own.

At first you pleaded with the building, but that only led to rooms with silent floors. You cursed with the same results. You begged. You worshiped. The building liked that.

You came to know it so well that you would almost see before reaching a room what would be written on its floor.

One day you walked through a door with a question that led to an unfinished room: floors not silent but blank and no choices on the doors. But there were painting implements in the room, and the building was a familiar friend and a rehearsed role. You wrote the answer on the floor and possible questions on each door, and walked through it to keep adding to the building's thoughts for the rest of your life, knowing now that there were others doing the same, more all the time, let loose in a mind too large for errand thoughts to ever cross paths.