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The shrill, nasal beeping of your alarm rouses you from your peaceful slumber. Groggily, you roll over in bed, reach for the alarm clock, and slam it off. Slowly, knowing that there’s no sense delaying the inevitable, you open your eyes and climb out of bed. Everything in the room is exactly where you left it the night before, yet something is amiss. Usually, there is a definite “morning” feeling, of the cheerful soprano of birdsongs, of the dew on the grass, sparkling in the soft, yet enchanting glow of the early-morning sun, but today, there is only a feeling of staleness, of dread, in the ominous grey sky. However, you pay it no mind, as you quickly shower, get dressed, grab your backpack, and toast a Pop-Tart for the road.

It’s second period, and although you’ve only been at school for a measly 83 minutes, it feels more like 83 years. The teacher drones on, and your friend next to you sums it up perfectly: “You go to high school until you’re 19, then you go to university until you’re like, 24 or 25, then you work your whole life, and by the time you retire, you’re too old to have fun.” It could be worse, you think, as you let your eyes wander, and gaze out the window, into the nearby park. You see several small children happily swinging, climbing, sliding, running, and laughing on the aging playground equipment, which has remained unchanged since the days when your life revolved around the antics of Bert and Ernie. Nearby, you see a homeless man, sitting in the shade of an enormous, placid willow tree, its branches swaying in the breeze, as he un-self-consciously strums a beat-up guitar, with a smile on his face as big as the children’s. This carefree scene is shattered with a frightened, confused scream, as a little boy accidentally comes upon a discarded syringe in the sand. Why do people think they can just dump their mess anywhere? It’s not as if the world has a self-clean function.

Although you try not to show it, these thoughts play in and out of your mind throughout the day. Everything around you blurs, and all you can see is the scene of the playground, playing over and over, indellibly in your mind. In an instant, the innocent sparkle vanishes from the little boy’s cherubic sapphire eyes, as he bewilderedly picks up the syringe, an impurity in his once-pristine world. All you can think is, WHY? Trying not to show your feelings, you continue to go through the eerily robotic motions of your day; Copy this down, read chapter 3, answer questions 1 a, b, z, q, and t; “Yeah, sure, I’ll be at the meeting….same place as last week;” “Um, I’m not sure, ask Taylor, she’s smart.” Yes sir, no sir, three bags full, sir……Here I am, doing everything everyone expects of me, but it doesn’t make any difference. WHY? Somehow, having witnessed that sweet, angelic boy being confronted by the hideous realities of life makes you feel personally responsible, and oddly unclean, as a member of a society that would allow such a thing to happen. You suddenly feel a primal urge to escape to a place that is still pure, but does such a place still exist?

Nauseated, you run, as fast and as far as you can, not caring where you’re going, only wanting to escape from where you are now. You keep running, and don’t stop until you find yourself in a dense, sheltered forest, among tall, majestic evergreen trees, which, in your mind, hold the mystical power to protect you from anything. The rustle of the dried needles under your feet, and the whistle of the wind in the branches, calms you. Massaging the stitch in your side from the exertion of running, you look around. To your utter amazement, you see a swirling, shimmering portal of black mist, its hypnotic wavering beckoning you nearer. A sense of mystified foreboding washes over you. Something in you knows that if you choose to walk through this portal, there is no going back.
Do you take the risk?
The choice is yours.