She stands at a door. The world around her shimmers with the everyday life she’s used to; it vibrates with familiarity and encloses her with its comfort. The door is a bland, utterly unappealing colour, mat in its finish. It doesn’t shake. It doesn’t move. It is in front of her, at once imposing and unnoticeable. Part of her wants to go through this inconsequential door, to see what is on the other side, to discover if the world hidden from her view is better than the one she lives in.
The shimmering brightness of her surroundings distract her. For a while, she’s drawn away from the door, complacent, almost happy. But then she remembers that odd door, it’s complete lack of shine. She moves toward it once more, wanting to investigate. She trips, face planting on the hard floor of her life. Confused and slightly annoyed, she looks down at the bindings that snake around her ankles, restricting her movement. They shimmer like the air around her – they are a part of her environment, her life stopping her from moving toward that door. Severely annoyed, she pushes the odd formation off of her, shaking herself free and walks toward the door. Once again, her world vibrates, pulling her attention away from the door.
This is her world. She should be comfortable here, right? It tells her she should be. Why isn’t she? The air hums with her discontent, her confusion. Part of her feels that the door is the only path for her; the other part of her is afraid of that door. So, she decides to hang out for a little while longer, investigate other avenues that she could take. Deep down though, she knows that she’ll be going through that door. One day, the bright sparkles of this world won’t be enough to hold her back. Whatever fears she has won’t seem significant anymore. For now, she bides her time and continually inches toward the door.