Happiness is not a goal…it’s a by-product of a life well lived.
- Eleanor Roosevelt
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In a dark long passage, I move ahead. The ceiling leaks and the smell is musty. There ahead lies a room, a desolated one, like an abandoned tree, longing to provide shelter to those who have forgotten its existence. A strange enchantment made my steps follow the route to the room, a familiar yet forgotten route. A dim light within it, I can see, gave the room a peculiar identity, a light that represented the power of life or maybe the sheer warmth of death. Walking towards it, I hear your footsteps, stumbling, hesitant, shuffling among things to look for what I too had been desperate to find, years ago. I stand at the door, your steps stop, you stand there holding the book, reading a note that soon shall be the beginning of you or shall I call it death? Your eyes teary, your legs shaky, the truth has always had that impact, it had on me, it had on the others. The look on your face told me that realisation had struck, ''Its a trap, a..... '', yes it is my friend. Its a world you know you cant leave, a world that will blur the line between life and death, a world beyond, not beautiful like the fantasy, but scary and wearsome. Despeaetion in your eyes you read out the other note below, aloud,
''To whom it may go,
You know your task is to show,
This room to the one,
Who after you walked here,
Away from the sun"
I regret my friend, I did bring you here but soon you too will be the one bringing new ones as a food to this trap, as a fuel to this world that doesnt know what lie and truth means, what happy or sad Feel, what life and death is. ''Its a trap," you repeat, "Not for you" I hear my voice thunder, "for all of us,for all of our souls." You shiver and look back, I walk towards you, I touch your shoulder, your eyes change colour, your skin stiffens,
"I welcome you my friend, to the world beyond".